#it counts as spoilers even if it's just that they're in suits | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mo0nfairy · 1 year ago

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ᥫ᭡ . # ۫ , ⸺ A HOUSE IN NEBRASKA !

summary :: mike schmidt did not realize the weight of his mistake before it was too late. when he had first met you, his baby sister's beloved teacher, he couldn't imagine ever leaving you. with his aunt's demands to see her niece, however, he had no choice. now, a year later and two states over, everyday is spent suffocating on misery and memories. mike does not know how much more of this he can endure before he breaks.

word count :: 9.2k.

content warnings :: obsessive!mike, yandere!mike, fnaf movie spoilers, drugging, kidnapping, violence, stalking, & insinuations of s3x.

mike schmidt's yandere traits are . . .

obsessive, paranoid, & nervous

──── Everything is hazy.

Fuzzy. Blurry. Serenity in its sheerest form. The absolute definition of tranquility.

That April morning in Nebraska. The scent of sugar and crayons, the sounds of children playing outside, the scattered toys left on rainbow carpets. You're sat at the desk in your classroom. Warm light bleeding through the window behind you, framing you with flowering leaves and sunshine.

Across the room, Abby Schmidt sits on the floor. Her small fingers tap the glass enclosure where the class pet is. Mr. Cupcake, your iguana. Or, as you like to refer to him, your teaching assistant. His claws plunge into his food dish, copper-colored eyes scrutinizing his surroundings. Abby watches as the reptile chows on the fruit and foliage left for breakfast.

Sitting in the chair opposite your desk is Mike Schmidt. Sweat beads on his forehead, ineluctably distressed beneath your gaze. The suit he wore for this occasion juts uncomfortably into his skin. His fingers fidget with the trim of his tie. He looks at the woven basket of exotic butters sitting on your desk, wondering why he had gotten you such an aimless gift.

Mike is quiet, as usual. Austere, his permanent disposition. Despite his tireless efforts to express his thoughts to you, the words remain nestled in his throat. Conjuring any syllable in your presence is impossible.

You, however, do not have any wavering confidence. You reiterate the legal documents obligatory for Abby's complete transition to a new school. Noting how all necessities are now in your possession (albeit languidly, as Mike has been painfully trying to buy more time here), the relocation was complete. The obvious insinuation of your words, however, brings crippling dread like no other.

The last time you would ever see one another. Your goodbye.

Standing to your feet, you make your way to Abby and bend down beside her. You will miss your star student, as you have a soft spot for all the children in your classroom. In the process, you do not take notice of the way Mike instinctively reaches out to you. He's sure your touch would kill him, but it does not stop him from wishing for it. Even just a sliver of the precious rarity.

"I think Mr. Cupcake is going to miss you." Abby looks at you with wide, curious eyes.

"Don't tell the others, but you're definitely his favorite." That earns you a smile before she averts her attention back to the iguana.

When you stand, you find Mike breathing down your neck. Horrifically, as this memory still haunts him, he thought it'd be a good idea to hug you. And he practically throws his entire body weight on top of you. When you reject him by placing your hand on his chest, offering a handshake instead, fire spreads with your touch. Knowing he will never know what it feels like to hold you close to him is more excruciating than he is willing to admit.

Abby skips out of the classroom, an adorable pep in her step. At the same time, every step Mike takes from you feels like walking through an avalanche. Dragging him backward, begging to return to you. Almost as if it were his instinct, his body is trying to reject his advances of leaving you.

"Why do you always look at them like that? Like... Like they're a dinosaur or something?"

Abby's question causes Mike's brows to furrow. His feelings for you were certainly discernible. Even his young sister had taken notice of the odd behavior. Had he made it that obvious? He answers her with a weak, affirmative grunt. Too emotionally fatigued to find words to speak.

A sudden flare of biliousness deluges through his body. The hallway walls adorned with children's paintings have morphed into a colorful blur of vertigo. The floors disturbingly stretch in size, making the journey away from you all the more torturous. The suit he had tried to wear confidently sticks to his hot skin. Nausea squirms in his stomach like a dying cockroach. The room begins to spin, lights sway in his vision, and his knees fight for balance.

Mike hears his sister shriek his name before he falls to the ground.

One year later, Mike wakes from this same dream, once again.

Every night of this past year, he has dreamt the same thing. Your final goodbye and the sheer impact it took on him. It is a gut-wrenching memory, but he welcomes the echo of you with open arms. To feel your hand on his chest, see your eyes looking into his. This yearning heartache is the only thing keeping him alive.

For the umpteenth time, Mike faces the harsh, violent reality of his current life. Now, he is somewhere in Utah. Praying straight to God he'll somehow wake up back in Nebraska. Where he could see you again, where he could be happy again.

Tearing the headphones of his Walkman off, the song he had played on repeat comes to an end. He rubs his sleepy eyes. With newfound clarity, Mike shifts his gaze upwards. Taped to the ceiling is a drawing Abby drew. It's of you and him beneath a flowery altar, Mr. Cupcake as your marriage officiant. The picture aids him in his efforts to feel closer to you.

Mike doesn't even know how he survived seeing the drawing for the first time. Someone else validating his feelings for you and the realness of your nonexistent relationship was too much for him to handle. Even if it is a child doing so through a frivolous drawing.

When Mike shuffles over to place his Walkman on the bedside table, he skims over the assortment of clutter left there. Several bottles of sleeping medication had been indolently thrown onto the surface. The pills help his dreams feel more real, as though he were at your side once again.

A glance over, Mike's heart wrenches at the sight of the picture frame. Beside the mess of pills is a photograph of you he had torn from Abby's yearbook. As if you were watching over him while he slept, reaching out to him in the presence of his dreams. It's a comforting thought of his, to imagine you watching over him. Like his personal guardian angel.

Surely, he would prefer to have you physically with him, instead of just relying on these fantasies to hold him over. His stomach flutters at the mere idea of you being in his bed with him. Mike feels empty without your warm weight beside him.

Laying against his chest, huddling up to him for an early-morning cuddle before the day starts. He would ensnare his blanket around your still-sleeping form. He'd press ardent kisses to the top of your head and inhale the aromatic scent of your signature soap. Massaging his hands across your back. Caressing the balmy flesh of your body. It is the physical manifestation of nirvana brought directly into his palms.

Mike shakes the thoughts out as quickly as they come. So cheesy... What on Earth is he doing?

Although he has tossed around the idea of giving in and leaving Abby in their aunt's care, what kind of man would you think him as if he abandoned his family? And if he were to take Abby back to Nebraska, Social Services would surely hunt him down. The mere idea of being locked behind a prison cell is terrifying, but the prospect of never seeing you again provokes terror like no other.

Mike's head pounds as these thoughts haunt him. Reveries of brighter days in your presence, trepidation of being separate from you forever — this is how every morning usually begins. His dreams nestled in a nightmare. The chaos in his head brings him to where this story had begun altogether.

February. Two months before the last time he would ever see you.

Jane had demanded Abby live with her in Utah, threatening legal action in the process. Mike had no other choice but to succumb to her orders. It had begun as a minor inconvenience, considering his life in Nebraska was futile to begin with. However, it would soon become the worst decision he has ever made. He knows he should have fought harder, but Mike hadn't met you until after he verified their relocation. It wasn't until he had stepped foot into your classroom for the very first time had he realized the weight of his mistake.

With the start of his shift at Freddy Fazbear's Pizza approaching, he struggled to bring these rampant thoughts to rest. Resentfully, Mike rises from his bed. The sun has begun to set and his unsatisfactory power nap has come to an end. He trudges over to the foot of his bed and begins his usual set of push-ups. Triggering adrenaline through his body is essential to his daily routine. It helps ease his brain from all the chaos. An area he is in dire need of assistance.

For a moment, his thoughts are blank. It is such an oddity, that Mike is left stunned. Having a silent mind is a privilege that is unknown to him.

And just when he thought he had found coherence, the memory of you comes sprinting at him from the shadows. Mere seconds of emptiness pass before thoughts of you invade his mind.

A week after your final goodbye.

His disposition has suffered from a harsh descent since then. Mike is now irritable and aggressive to anyone who even faintly nudges his buttons. Snapping like a feral dog. Rough like a calloused hand.

Acknowledging weakness has never been his strong suit, but Mike is not a fool when it comes to how he feels around you. The overwhelming nerves stirred together with unwavering devotion make for a sugary-sweet, poisonous concoction. Something he could get drunk off for years to come.

Although his mind is stained in consideration, he cannot storm through the school doors and take you with him to Utah. Merely standing in your presence is enough to make him stop breathing. Contriving an abduction, one that includes you, no less, would fail miserably. And as he stated before, the prospect of being stuck behind bars and never seeing you again provokes terror like no other.

So, he gives in. He resentfully gives in to what his Aunt Jane wants and goes about his life.

There was only two more weeks before he'd leave his job as security at the mall forever. Mike meanders through the large expanse, actively averting his gaze from all the happy couples. Hands held together, eyes brimming with adoration, feeding each other ice cream. It never fails to make him bitter, which he prefers to assume it is because of how sappy the sight is.

He wonders what flavor of ice cream is your favorite, the look in your eye as he feeds you a spoonful. What kind of sweet words you'd give him and the way you'd blush when he drowns you in adoration. Within the safety of his mind, he has molded himself into the man of your dreams. You will just have to look past all the sweat and nerves to find him.

A flicker of movement captures his attention. Something strangely familiar in his peripheral. When he turns, his breath gets caught in his chest.

His wide eyes stare at you. Standing alone across the mall.

All Mike can do is gawk. Like a newly-born fawn, staring goggle-eyed and weak-kneed as he takes in the sight of the world for the very first time. A gasp of your name parts from his lips. He sways in his stance like a boat on the sea, his body melts like snow beneath the sunlight. Stood still in place, he feels that familiar sense of light-headedness return. He embraces the dizziness as a comfort, this time around.

Mike could almost laugh at this. At the same time, he could cry his heart out.

Of course, your roads would intersect. Of course, you would find each other in the end. Even when he had fully accepted he would never see you again, you return to him. Like a cloud of happier days, here to hide the torment for all.

And then, he's interrupted.

Walking uninvited into the scene is a stranger. A man approaches you, daring to drape his arm around your shoulder. Mike's eye twitches as he watches. The stranger then plants a kiss on your cheek, something Mike has wished to do since the first time he stepped foot in your classroom. With this man's hands all over you, the two of you begin to walk away.

The word "heartbroken" was something Mike had never felt before. It was something he never understood. He only heard of the word through brainless movies, where he swore he'd never let himself fall apart like the dumb characters do. At this moment, however, that term is stamped all over him in thick ink. A vivid exhibition of all the good and bad you have done to him.

Without another thought, Mike takes a step. Then another. Before he is breaking into a full sprint toward the love of his life and the parasite latched onto them. It's as if a puppeteer was controlling him, grasping hold of his spine and snatching a fistful of nerves. He shoves past any shoppers in his way, a few losing balance and falling to the floor. His speed accelerates with every hastening step, growing closer and closer.

The stranger looks over his shoulder a second too late before he is tackled. The two fall into an adjacent fountain with a loud clamor. Mike's fist clenches, before it surges down into his face. Then, he does it again and again and again.

Again. Again. Again.

And again.

Grunting like an animal, Mike can't stop himself.

Fuck you. Fuck you.

Fuck you.

Don't you ever fucking touch them.

It is blinding, how enraged he is. In a mess of blood and water. The mere thought of someone laying a finger on you boils red-hot rage like he has never felt before.

Someone ensnares their arms around him and drags him away from the mess he created. When the splashing water eases down to calm ripples, he finally looks over to you to ensure your safety and- who is that? A different person is standing there, utter horror plastered on their face as they watch the scene play out.

They have the same height, the same clothes, almost the same everything. But, now that Mike is able to scrutinize who he thought to be you, he realizes he was completely wrong. He had only formed a desperate personification of you from memory. What has he done?

The dread is soul-crushing as the weight of his mistake crushes him. Other bystanders watch in shock. Mike's fists are bruised red, his clothes are wet and stained with blood. What on Earth was he thinking!? All he ever wanted was to protect you! To protect you from men like that!

Mike's vision doubles and his body shivers. All he ever wanted was to protect you. The only thing he can think about is you and the sheer devastation you have rained down into his life.

This memory playing through his head is abruptly cut short. Mike is then forcefully shoved back into reality when his hand slips during his set of push-ups. He falls face-first into the carpet, grumbling from the harsh contact.

It is a vile memory to have, as it is the reason he lost his job at the mall and truly eradicated any chance of staying in Nebraska. However, it showed him how irrevocably devoted he is to you. How the feelings he has for you are completely and utterly real. Someone like him, who prides himself in being aloof and controlled, was capable of causing such calamity. All for your safety.

It was a terrifying revelation, but it soothed him in a way he had never felt before.

Michael Schmidt needs you.

And unfortunately, his feelings are not powerful enough to stretch into physical reality. Even though it feels as though they are capable of doing so, they cannot mold the world to bring him back to you. They cannot protect him from the inevitability of leaving his home and being dragged to Utah.

Now, he stands at the entrance of Freddy Fazbear's Pizza. Ivy grows amongst the bricked walls. Bright paint fades from years of neglect. Mike breathes in the scent of midnight brume as he unlocks the doors, trying once more to rid his brain of the thought of you.

The flashlight in his hands illuminates the inside of the pizzeria. Specks of dust permeate the air. Flashy arcade games are riddled with age. Toys on the prize shelf are covered in a blanket of cobwebs. The once gaudy carpets are caked with dirt. And those God-awful animatronics still stand on that rickety stage. Mike takes note of all these little things with a sigh. If this place was still alive today, he knows you'd adore taking your students here.

As his nights have been spent for the last year, he walks through the dilapidated establishment as usual. On the desk is a stack of chunky monitors displaying several angles of the pizzeria. The "CELEBRATE!" poster on the wall mocks him. He plops down on the adjacent swivel chair. The old fabric peels and the wheels whine from his weight.

Unzipping his ragged backpack, he grasps hold of the book he had taken with him, Dream Theory. Adjusting the headphones of his Walkman on his head, Mike then flicks the dog-ear over and resumes his reading.

God only knows how many times he has read this damned book. And every time he rereads it, he prays he can somehow find an anecdote for this torment. A magic step-by-step guide that will bring him back to you.

Despite perusing this book from front to back, he still searches for more. He hates being awake. He'd much rather be asleep, where he can return to you. Any second not spent with you, even if the moment is not tangible, is a second gone to waste. No matter what the circumstances are, he could only ever wish to be with you.

Lethargy hits Mike like a slap across the face. The book in his hands is now reminiscent of a brick. The song that plays on repeat in his Walkman soothes him like a mother's lullaby. All of these sensations embrace Mike; they pacify his brain and body of any unease. And with a few more leveled breaths, Dream Theory falls from his hands and he drifts off.

With a beat, he's woken up with a sharp gasp. This time, however, he does not awaken in the same dingy pizzeria. He finds himself sitting at a picnic table. Located in the very same forest he had lost his brother years ago.

Looking down, Mike finds he is dressed in the same hunter-green sweater and jeans stained with grass. His eyes scan around the expanse, searching for the faces of his family. He cannot find his mother, his father, nor Garrett. No one. Everything is to no avail.

There's a shuffle from behind him. He looks, only to find swaying trees and fluttering birds. And then, a voice.

"I'm sad to see you both go." The familiar cadence has Mike's head snapping back forward. He is struck with desperation.

There you are, sat across from him at the picnic table.

If it weren't for the campgrounds you were both at, this moment would be identical to when he first met you. In that same classroom, on that same day. Every mannerism and timbre of your voice is a picture-perfect copy of that moment. Same look in your eye, wearing the same clothes and bead bracelets your students made for you. Same everything.

It is a precious memory. To sit here with you feels so real, as though the heavens had answered Mike's prayers and brought him back to you.

"Abigail has always been a stellar student. I have no doubt she'll flourish in her new school."

Your smile makes his heart sink. Everyone always looks at him with anger. Not you, though. You're different.

"She does have a tendency to keep to herself. But, I think she'll adapt well to the new environment." He remembers every word from your mouth.

The emotions he was struck with when he first met you come back in a near-fatal rush. Irrepressible tension and rapture plunge through the barrier of his flesh. Practically a duplicate of the exact memory.

Going to a standard school meeting for his sister was an event Mike intended to do briefly. Getting it over as quickly as possible is his standard approach to most if not all, aspects of his life. This day, however, he was thrown in a whirlpool when he found himself wishing to stay with you. Leaving you felt like something he could not bear to endure.

Mike is abnormally pale, drenched in sweat, and mere seconds from passing out. You place your hand on his arm, inquiring him about if he was feeling alright. Hook, line, and sinker. Your mere touch sent him charging away from any perceived sanity he once possessed.

The strictly platonic concern you had for his well-being is addicting. To a point where Mike abandons all morals to indulge in these newfound feelings you give him. Once a poised man has now been reduced to a gooey puddle of sheer fervor.

All he can do is nod in response, completely entranced by the sight before him. You take his assurance hesitantly, before reaching into a basket of children's toys beside your desk. As this memory usually plays out, you retrieve a bear plushie. You then tell him of how it is Abby's favorite to play with and how you wish to gift it to her before your final goodbye. He agrees, of course. Nodding once more to compensate for his inability to speak.

In these woods, however, you show him that orange toy plane his brother treasured. His gaze remains latched to you as stand from the picnic table and walk away. To his utmost surprise, you then bend down beside Garrett. When you present him with the plane, he accepts your gift with childlike elation. He is quick to abandon his recent endeavors in favor of playing with his new toy.

You stand on foot, watching with an adoring smile as the young boy takes off. Mike watches you. An emotional, muddled intensity in his eyes.

"This isn't... This isn't how it happened... This isn't real." In his state of confusion, Mike has found the ability to speak.

He captures your attention and your gaze reverts to him. In response, his mouth goes dry and all coherent thought vanishes. Just one look from you and his entire capacity to speak is robbed, once again.

"But, it could be... It's what you want, isn't it?"

You are correct. You have always been veracious and that attitude does not fail now.

So despairingly, Mike wants this with you. To raise Abby and Garrett together, he can only imagine the wonderful people they'd become under your care. Maybe you and him could even bring a few more beautiful lives into this world. He can only imagine how exultant his own life would become if this dream turned into reality.

The rest of his life would be spent with you in Nebraska, just like this. Mornings and nights spent together at the dining table, all delicious laughter and nourishing meals. He'll even let you bring that lizard, too!

Playing frivolous games in the backyard until the sun sets, dressing in ridiculous costumes to take the kids trick-or-treating, and helping them blow out the candles for every birthday cake. Hell, he'll endure the sweltering temperatures and screaming kids at Disneyland. Only if you're there with him.

And maybe after the bedtime stories and last tuck-ins goodnight, you and him can occupy yourselves with other activities. Mike is no stranger to these kinds of fantasies, after all.

You wouldn't fail Abby and Garrett. Not like he did. You could all be a family. Exactly like he has always wanted.

For a moment, Mike had forgotten how his life had inevitably turned out. He was so warped in the domestic bliss he could have with you, that he didn't anticipate how the next chapter of his life would manifest in this dream.

You are tackled to the ground. You fight, you kick, you scream — you do everything in your strength to get the man off of you. The very same man who took Garrett all those years ago.

Not a picosecond passes before Mike picks himself up, rushing to your safety. He intends to beat the man to a bloody pulp. His sole purpose on Earth is to protect you and ensure your safety, after all. In his efforts, his foot gets caught against the legs of the picnic table, sending him to the dirt floor. Mike is quick to scramble to his feet. His heart races a mile a minute; his eyes are blown wide in crazed worry.

When he stands, he finds that somehow within the few seconds spent on the ground, you had been shoved into the back of a car. You bang your fists against the rear window, pleading for him to rescue you. And that, Mike desperately tries to do.

He sprints after you in a blind, blurred panic. The sudden, swift movement of his body is painful, as though needles poke and prod at his skin. It is all he can see, hear, feel, think of. Losing you and the gut-wrenching devastation that would inevitably follow.

The car begins to accelerate faster and faster. His running pace gets slower with every step forward. Mike tries, God, he fucking tries, but you slip away from him like sand between his fingers. Just the same as it was when he lost his brother.

With his speed receding, his body loses all mobility and he cannot bear to run anymore. The harsh punt of his body falling to the ground pulls a grunt out of his throat. Mike whispers mantras of "I'm sorry," hoping that you can somehow hear his pleas. He prays that by some miracle, the man who took you will have a change of heart and bring you back. Sobs plunge through his chest. The misery seeps in like water leaking through a weak dam.

Consciousness comes back to him all too suddenly. A loud yell of your name erupts from him and echoes through the security room. Mike plummets from his desk chair and splats against the ground. His mind is still plagued by that scene, he is still racing to save your life.

Cold sweat drips from his head. His hands shake with a terrified tremor. He hyperventilates, as though he had escaped the depths of the ocean and were inhaling fresh air for the first time. Mike weakly props himself up against the desk, trying to calm himself.

An entire year of agony. Over 365 days of absolute Hell. Living without you has tortured him in ways he never thought was possible.

Sitting here on the filthy floor of this old pizzeria, Mike finally waves his white flag. He has given up. He cannot do this anymore. It is more than he can handle.

And without so much as another breath, Mike springs into action.

Max is surprised to see him back home so early. Flustered and ridden with sweat, Mike explains how there is an emergency at work and he needs her to watch Abby longer. She obliges and accepts the hefty pay he shoves into her hands. He is driving away before she can process what has just occurred.

The song he plays every night in his Walkman blares from the car radio. Your song. The idea brings him ephemeral ease. A dash of excitement.

This is what his life is supposed to be and if all goes well, it's what it will be in mere hours. Mike's foot slams harder against the gas, doing what he should have done long ago.

All he has to do is explain himself. Surely, you will listen and understand this is for the better. You will see through all his stuttered words and irrepressible nerves. You will taste the sickeningly sweet devotion dripping from his mushy, candied heart. Surely, you will understand this is all for you. And of course, you will love him, too.

Hours pass like gusts of wind. The welcome sign of Nebraska passes in a flash. Mike remembers the route like the back of his hand. He'd never forget the roads that lead back to you, after all.

Dawn is moments from rising. The sky is a dark blue, covered in blotches of dark, orange sunshine. Mike pulls into the parking lot of your school where only one car is present. Yours. And of course, he parks directly beside you. The prospect of being close to you, even with something as negligible as this, sends a hot shiver coursing through his body.

Mike tries to soothe himself as he lets out a shaky breath. A heavy trepidation is nestled in his stomach, still mixed with that crisp excitement. Sweat cascades down his face. His dark, curly hair sticks to his forehead. Nothing can stop these feelings. He may try, but his scattered heartstrings stubbornly remain ensnared around his throat.

When he stands, he has to latch onto the roof of his car to catch his balance. Any passerby would think he was drunk. Being at an elementary school would certainly not help his case, either. Fortunately, the only people here are you and him. No one else. Just the way it is supposed to be.

The path leading to you is familiar. The trees blossoming, the chalk drawings on the sidewalk, and the scent of the early-morning breeze. It reminds Mike even more of how much he missed you.

His wet palms grasp the handles of the front entrance. He pulls, only for the door to remain locked in place. A few more desperate tugs and he watches as his ploy peels apart from the seams. The consideration of breaking down the door is only present momentarily, before any and all function of his is cut short.

The door is unlocked and opened. Stood at the threshold is you.

And with more intensity than Mike had anticipated, the euphoria only you are capable of conjuring comes rushing back.

"Good morning!" is all you say. Your expression is cheerful. Kind. Gorgeous, as you always are. Exactly the way he remembered.

Now that you are finally here, Mike cannot fathom how he had survived so long without you. The pieces of you sprinkled throughout his life are brought to revelation. Your name carved into his bones, your warmth threaded through his veins, your breath stirred with his every word. It is as terrifying as it is exhilarating. The fact he had not collapsed upon making mere eye contact with you is a miracle in of itself.

"Oh! Are you the new security guard? I wasn't aware we were getting a new hire." You break the silence, referring to the yellow "SECURITY" stamped on his vest.

You...

You don't remember me?

The words don't manage to escape him. Instead, you send him into a state of stupor.

The impact your words have on him is nothing short of surreal. When Mike had memorized every sliver of you down to the tilt of your jaw and the curve of your spine, you had forgotten him entirely. For the year he spent longing for you, he was merely a bystander in the background. An apparition within your mind. You do not remember him. And no words in the English language could express the lethal heartbreak.

It has rendered Mike speechless and his inability to speak fills you with unease.

"Please, come in." Opening the door further, you try and usher him inside. All you wish to do is escape this conversation and the fervid eyes of this stranger.

Gaze still glued to you, he grasps hold of the door handles. His unconscious brain still decides to take the weight off of you. Mike has no choice now, he must convince you to stay with him. To beg you to choose him, to remind you of everything you once had with each other. To show you what losing you has done to him.

When you turn and walk away, he tries to find his voice. Mike wants to express all of this to you, but his efforts are futile. He is frozen and can only watch as you leave him again. The opposite direction of your classroom, this time. Towards the office. Most likely to ensure he was actually in the system.

Mike does not take this choice of yours for granted. Gathering up whatever morsel of strength is still left in him, he takes a few wobbly steps. He stumbles through the dark hallways, clutching his hand over his heart as he walks. His rampant heartbeat does not calm itself, no matter his attempts to soothe it.

Upon practically collapsing into your classroom, a flare of fleeting ease envelops Mike. To be surrounded by you is absolute ecstasy. Paradise is personified through flamboyant decorations and the scent of strawberries and books.

He scans every detail of your classroom. The new drawings on the wall, the jumble of recently purchased toys. He sees the new changes you have made in the past year and is shattered to know you were not thinking of him at all. As opposed to every second of his life being enmeshed with you.

Mike soon finds your desk. The first and last place he had ever truly felt happiness. On the surface, some of your clutter had been left behind. Too cute. A colorful planner had been left open to this exact date. A few papers are sat to the side, where students' assessments are in the process of being graded. Most important of all, your thermal scattered with stickers sits on a pained coaster.

Mike knows he should not consider it, no less think about it. You just need to be reminded, that's all.

With a paranoid glance at the door, he takes the orange bottle of sleeping pills from his backpack. He swiftly pours out several onto the desk. Then, he takes a stapler you had left out of reach from children's sticky fingers, crushing the thin white circles into a chunky powder. Your thermal opens with a quiet pop! and Mike pours the residue into your drink. He uses the straw to stir it around for effective measure, trying to ignore the incessant urge to take your straw for... personal use.

A storage closet resides right behind him. Mike leaves everything on your desk as it once was and is swift to hide inside. He leaves the door open a mere creak, within perfect distance to watch his plan unfold.

The minute without you feels torturous, as though it had lasted a millennia. When the aching sound of silence is filled by a creaking door, his heart practically plummets. Through the small peep, you enter his field of vision. You trot over to the iguana enclosure. Saying a quick hello to Mr. Cupcake, before making your way to your desk. Oblivious to the uninvited guest just inches away.

You take a sip from your thermal. Mike cannot find air to breathe or the ability to function.

You take another. This is actually happening.

One more sip. Your pen scribbles on your planner.

You take a sip. It is a blessing straight from God you cannot hear the hyperventilated breaths behind you.

Then, another sip. Holy shit, this is actually happening.

As you work, you reach over to grab some sticky notes. Your elbow accidentally nudges your pen, causing it to fall from your desk and roll across the floor. You stand to retrieve it with a grumble before a sudden wave of lethargy envelops you. It is all too sudden and acute. You have to lean on the edge of your desk to stable yourself.

Before you can question the sudden fatigue, your body fails you. When you inevitably fall, Mike is quick to catch you. Hell, his arms were around you before your legs even wobbled. Slowly, and with loving attentiveness, he guides your limp body to the ground. The adrenaline inside him is so penetrating, that he does not have a moment to process the fact he is touching you.

With you fully unconscious, Mike knows exactly where he'll be heading next. Only now, he'll have an additional passenger with him.

He secures your unconscious form into the back seat of his car. Fastening your seatbelt and triple-checking they are in proper function. Mr. Cookie, or whatever his name is, is in the front seat within his cage. Moving his enclosure and necessities from your classroom was a hassle, as told by the bite mark on Mike's hand. For you, though, he would endure far worse.

With the birds beginning to sing, there is little time before the world wakes up and his intentions are jeopardized. Mike drives off before anyone can see what he has done. Not even he has fully processed what he has done.

Leaving your car, your home, and your life behind, he begins the treacherous and exciting journey back to Utah.

Every car that passes has him gripping the wheel tighter, foot reader to slam harder on the gas. He had already lost you once, he cannot lose you again. Mike does not play music, either. The sounds of your breathing is his new favorite harmony.

He casts a glance in the rear-view mirror every now and then. You're draped among the back of the car, cocooned in the numerous blankets he brought for this trip. Beneath the windows, your head is rested against a fluffy pillow. He even snuggled a few plushies into your arms. The sight is so gut-wrenchingly adorable, Mike nearly crashes the car with how painfully distracting the sight of you is.

This was the state he stayed in for the first several hours of the drive. Mindless driving on freeways, checking on you (as well as continuously cooing over your cuteness), and holding his breath whenever he passes through busy areas or cops. Then, he gets knocked off course.

With blurred vision, you can barely discern where you are.

Sunlight makes you squint. Your mind is messy. You can hear the rumble of a car engine, feel the vibration against your form. The blankets wrapped around you are suffocating. You peel them off from your body, a few random stuffed animals fall to the car floor when you do so.

Mike nearly snaps his neck with how fast he turns around. His efforts to take you away were frivolous, yes, but he was sure he had given you enough pills to sleep through the trip.

"Hey, you're okay. Y-You're okay. Everything's gonna be okay. Okay? Just don't freak out... Please don't freak out."

You do the opposite of what he advised. Little by little, the pieces begin to click together. Panic settles in your stomach like a fresh sheet of snow. Hyperventilating breaths leave your shaking body, accentuated by your frightened whimpers. Who is this man? What the fuck is going on? Tears stream down your face with every question that litters your mind. And every cracked sob you let out is a fatal strike to your assailant's fragile heart.

Mike is quick to comfort you, as you can always count on him to do such. And how badly he wishes to climb into the back seat himself and hold you close. Everything he is doing is for the better, you must know that. As scary as this all may seem for you, he will do whatever it takes to convince you of this truth.

He reaches his hand back to soothe you, only succeeding in the opposite when you cower away from his touch. Mike cannot hide how poignant your rejection is, he is shocked he hadn't broken down into tears alongside you.

"... Are you going to hurt me-?"

"I would never."

He answers without a sliver of hesitation. Your shattered, sugar-sweet voice absolutely destroys him.

The weight of his declaration is so immense that you could almost believe him. You should believe him, as he only tells the utter truth. The fact you have been drugged and shoved into the backseat of a stranger's car, however, convinces you otherwise.

Looking through the window, you take note of the rural area you're in. Nothing but miles of trees to comfort you. No distinct landmarks to help you navigate your location.

Mike oscillates between looking at you and the road. While he's occupied with the road ahead, you take action before thinking thoroughly. Sweltering blankets torn off of your body, you unfasten your seatbelt as silently as you can. You mentally prepare yourself for the turmoil up ahead. Then, within a matter of a single second, you unlock the car door and jump.

Debris slices into you as you fall deeper into the forest. The world becomes a blurred frenzy of trees and cloudy skies. Your frail body is drowsy from the drugs still pumping through your system. Your ribs ache, your ears ring, and you are covered in gashes. Still, survival is the only prospect present in your brain. You pick yourself up from the dirt and dash forward. Never looking back.

April puddles and fallen pinecones ruin your expensive work shoes. Fresh flowers are squished beneath your steps. There is no path you intend to take, you only wish to get as far as you can from that man. Poison ivy and low-hanging branches slash at your skin. You do not think, you only push and push and push. Anywhere away from him.

The second you had opened that car door, Mike slammed down on the brakes. The scream of your name hurts his throat from the sheer volume. To see you jump, leaving him again, sparked fear like no other. He does not even bother to turn off the car or close the door before he is racing after you. He cannot lose you again. He can't, he can't, he can't.

Mike barrels into the forest like a feral animal. He is met with a terrifying sense of déjà-vu. He's seen this movie before, he's heard this song a million times. This dream has haunted him forever. Just when he is inches from touching salvation, you will be snatched away from him. And he will have to watch as his life crumbles before his very eyes.

His legs grow heavier with every step. He screams for you until his voice goes raw. His lungs feel as though they may collapse into themselves. Still, his efforts to find you do not falter. You would have to kill him if you wished to keep him away from you.

A tree branch crunches.

Mike stops dead in his tracks. Listening.

There's a pained whimper. Quiet amongst the soft winds.

He dashes toward the sound. Swift in surging through the steep hills and overgrown forestry in his path.

While you were running, you failed to notice a protruding tree root. When your foot hooks beneath it and sends you tumbling to the ground, you try and scramble to your feet. However, the burst of adrenaline that had gotten you this far could not combat the lethargy still in your body. You lay on your back, exasperated with debility. Entirely paralyzed.

"Y/N! Oh, thank God!" Mike collapses beside you, all while you stare at the stranger in utter terror.

Dirt and sweat paint his body. Eyes blown wide and crazed, his hands reach for you. Fearfully searching for any wounds. One hand cradles your face, caressing your skin with his thumb. The other rests against your hairline, petting the expanse with tender intent. Cries of both relief and terror fill the empty silence. To lose you all over again is a horrifying prospect he cannot fathom the weight of.

"N-... No..." Your voice is weak. Barely able to crawl out of your mouth.

Fingers latched into the mud, you try to drag your body away from this maniac. Mike brings your attempts to a halt, hands still latched onto your body.

"I'll be good, Y/N, I will... Just-Just stay with me!"

Your assailant does not listen to your feeble demands. Instead, Mike wraps his arms around your torso. Further ensnaring you in his locked embrace. He buries his face into your neck and rocks your body back and forth. Trying to soothe you into another slumber. His sniffles are overpowered by his sharp inhales of breath. Consuming your scent.

"You're not leaving me. You're not fucking leaving me!" Mike bawls out.

He is now a complete mess. Face twisted with ugly sobs. All hot tears and running snot.

"Just sleep now, okay? I'm right here..."

Blunt nails dig into your shoulder blades. His weight on top of you is suffocating. Please just love him and never leave him. That is all he could ever ask for, all he could ever want. He has spent so long without the one he loves most, he cannot bear to ever part from them ever again.

With a choked groan, Mike lifts your limp body from the ground. Sniffling reassurances echo as you reach a state of unconsciousness. He lifts you over his shoulder and your body loses all mobility. As he takes you away, your mind fades into a peaceful rest. Escaping is now a pipe dream.

Faint sounds of shuffling are what you're next awoken to. Pipes bang and thump. It is far more quiet than your last conscious encounter.

Darkness pervades your vision. Your body feels weightless, as though you are floating through a dream. You cannot move, no matter your efforts to try. As if your limbs had been glued to the fluffy expanse you've been laid upon. All you are capable of doing is releasing a guttural moan of disdain from the back of your throat.

"Easy, cub. Easy now."

No.

The voice is fluffy and easy. Horrifyingly familiar.

This can't be real; this can't be reality. This cannot be what your life becomes: rotting away in this stranger's embrace.

You were granted several mere seconds of solitude before hands were on your body, once again. The grasp lifts your body, to where your assailant sits behind you and rests your back against his chest. His efforts are gentle. Comforting. Though, the movement still has you wincing in discomfort. You hadn't anticipated how many injuries you had given yourself.

Speckles of your sight return in short spurts. There is light against the darkness, everything is gold. Drowned in the hues of candlelight scattered around the room. The glow is cast against a fuzzy expanse, to where you could almost convince yourself you were in a dream. And my God, do you wish it was.

You miss the rich, headache-inducing colors of your classroom. The judging stares of other parents who drowned their homes in beige decor never felt more comforting. You miss the screeching children with their constant need for attention. Their dramatic tears and obnoxious attitude would bring you peace like no other.

Mike plants his chin against your shoulder and all you can think about is the beautiful life you have lived until this point. His arm slithers across your torso, tightening with vehement need. It is loving in the most suffocating manner. You then hear a bottle unscrew through static noise. shushes you as he presses the lid against your lips. Water cascades into your mouth and down your dry throat, all while Mike presses impassioned kisses to your temple.

"There you go. Very good... You're perfect..." His tone is cordial as he ushers you to drink.

As much as you had tried to fight his attempts to give you water, it has fortunately provided you more clarity. The environment surrounding you fades into something more lucid.

You've been swaddled in a thick comforter. Soft and floral-scented, fresh out of the dryer. The king-size bed is at the end of the room and provides you with a clear view of everything. The lack of windows and decrepit staircase tucked in the corner tell you this is a basement. Soundproofed and locked up, your chances of escape are minimal. He does not want to let you go, that much is for certain.

Across the room is a chunky television. Movie cassettes sit in the cabinet supporting the television, where a newly purchased GameCube is left beside, as well. There's a bookshelf to your left, which is filled with old novels and children's books. Nothing was bought recently. Is there a child in this house? Lego sets and puzzle boxes are stacked next to the shelf. You come to the chilling assumption that it is intended to be something for you to occupy yourself with when he's gone.

Much to your satisfaction, Mike leaves from his spot behind you. He guides you back onto the pillow with romantic, loving ease. A gentle caress to your cheek before he goes. As if he was your doting husband taking care of you while you are ill.

When you look to your right, your heart accelerates when you find your iguana enclosure on top of a rickety table. Thank God he is alright! You do not know what you would do if this man had harmed Mr. Cupcake.

As words have failed you consistently, you whine out like a baby to express your wants. Your assailant's attention is back on you at record speed. The persistent need he has to ensure your comfort is almost pathetic. Teary-eyed and pouty, you reach for the enclosure holding your iguana.

Mike's body goes rigid. A gentle gasp emanates from him.

Are you... Are you reaching for him?

He practically throws himself back onto the bed. Sat beside your laying form, he almost can't bring himself to believe it. His deluded fantasies have bloomed into existence.

"Yes? What do you need, cub?" Please say him. Please say you need him like he needs you.

Mike looks at you and his eyes melt into candy. A gentle smile plastered on his face, he brings his finger up and boops you on the nose. Affectionate is his natural disposition. You're too fucking cute.

Mike had wasted an entire year without you. Too much time spent neglecting you of his love. Oh, you must have been so lonely without him. This is all he has wanted, after all. To take care of you. To take the weight off your shoulders and bring you ease like no other. He will spend the rest of his lifetime making up for the lost time. He would spend forever for you, slaving away to earn your forgiveness.

When you firmly establish what it is you actually want, no amount of sleeping pills in your thermal cup could stop you from seeing how defeated he is. Your rejection cuts like a dagger. Anyone can see this genuine fact. Still, Mike abides by your request. He'd tear mountains asunder for your happiness, after all.

Begrudgingly, he leaves your side. He opens the enclosure with struggle. Too many notches and slots. When he takes Mr. Cupcake into his hands, the iguana squirms and twists. Almost as if the reptile grasped what was happening. He propels his tail like a whip, reaching for the hands around him with his sharp teeth. His nails dig into whatever part of this stranger he can find.

When Mike plops him into your lap, Mr. Cupcake relaxes instantaneously. You snuggle him into your arms and are provided comfort from him, as well. His scaly flesh and jagged spine abrade your face, but you have never known a more soothing embrace. You plant a myriad of kisses and adoring nuzzles on Mr. Cupcake's skin. At the same time, you ignore the third wheel standing there.

Mike watches this and is nearly sick with want. Never in his life had he ever thought he'd wish to be an iguana this bad. The things he would give and the things he would take to be on the receiving end of your affections bridges off insanity.

Averting his gaze, he cannot watch the scene anymore. He had never expected to be so envious of a goddamn reptile. Mike grants you the time you want with that prickly bastard and leaves the basement. You hear the tumultuous clatter of all the locks and bolts being put into place once he is gone.

The time without Mike is something you do not take for granted. Silence is precious, solitude even more so. During his absence, you reel through the supercut of your life. You cannot find this man in any of your memories. You do not remember that face no matter how hard you try. He is the bad guy, the villain. The very definition of 'stranger-danger' you teach your students about.

When Mike returns, all of that disturbed turbulence comes with him.

In his hands is a cracked dinner plate with spaghetti and meatballs splat on top. The closer he gets, the faster your heart pumps. Setting the plate down on the bedside table, he takes your iguana from your tight hold. Mr. Cupcake still thrashes in his grasp, trying to bite and hit wherever he can. Good boy.

When the beast is locked away, Mike is idyllic to be alone with you again. He acts as though the current circumstances were romantic, where you and him are enjoying an amorous vacation. He then places the meal carefully in your lap, wary of the hot plate burning your precious skin.

"You need to eat, cub. You've been through so much. Too much." Mike's hand finds your face again, thumb caressing your cheek.

His mere words make you want to vomit your breakfast all over what is supposed to be your dinner. Still, you obey and begin eating. The dish is mediocre, at best. You've tasted better from the kitchen play set where your students wear chef hats and cook plastic food. Kidnapped and trapped in a basement, however, you'll take whatever scraps you can get.

Eyes glued to your plate, you do not watch as Mike takes a movie from the cabinet and pops it into the VCR. "The Immortal and the Restless" whirs to life as he returns to where you sit. Mike lays down beside you and joins you beneath the warm comforter. He takes the fork from your hands. A shiver cascades up his arm upon the faint contact made by your fingers touching. Oh, it is love. He then begins to feed you. There is nothing but sugary madness in his eyes.

Bite by bite, you are forced to watch soap operas and listen to nauseating love declarations.

"I was so alone out there without you, baby."

If only you hadn't been so fooled by a security vest and pretty brown eyes, you could be with your students right now. You could be free right now.

If only.

⁺ 🎧 , 🪷 you are currently listening to . . . ⁺ 🪺 , 🎵 ꪆ

❝ PRAYING STRAIGHT TO GOD THAT

MAYBE YOU'LL COME BACK AROUND . . . ❞

no one asked for this but idc hehe.

gif creds :: mike.

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factual-fantasy · 1 year ago

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23-ish Asks! :DD Fun pictures ahead!

--!!FNAF MOVIE SPOILERS!!--

@mbm-artist @pinkbomb08 @tadssstrange

AH! Happy Halloween! Sorry I am late to respond to you trick or treaters. I have been really busy lately with a project. For your patience and for waiting at my door step for several days- I reward you with only the finest delicacies I have to offer,

Be sure to devour it all in 1 sitting ya hear? :}

@jackal-lantern @trotg2367

I have seen the FNAF movie. And I have more negative things to say than positive <XD

The positive things being, MAT PAT YEAAAAHHHH- The first spook with Bonnie following the formula of the first game was THE BEST THING EVER. I'm so glad that Markiplier was fully intended to be a part of the movie. Its a bummer that he couldn't make it but its the thought that counts. <:) (He was busy working on Iron Lung and the schedules just didn't line up. He explains it all in this stream-)

Now for the negatives. Oh boy <XD Out of order- the movie wasn't nearly as scary as I expected. I was kind'a disappointed really. That 1 tense scene with Bonnie disappearing off stage was EXCELLENT but otherwise the scares were kind'a lackluster.. I feel like the scare with Foxy running down the hall needed the added sound of his thumping foot steps getting louder as they approached. Like in the game. That would have been scarier to me and would have been a call back, like Bonnie! Although I do appreciate that it was added at all. I would have been more disappointed if there wasn't a Foxy running down the hall scene <XD

Of course I wasn't a fan of the carbon copy of Vanessa being Williams daughter for obvious lore reasons. I didn't like how much the animatronics moved and how blatantly alive they were. It took away so much of the horror for me. Also how quickly Mike just.. accepted that they were ghosts?? It took like 3 minutes to convince him. I wished they had stuck with the scares and the atmosphere of the first game. It would have been a lot scarier to me that way. Also not even mentioning the missed scare of someone opening one of their stomachs and finding a dead child all disfigured and crammed inside..

Also the animatronics looked FANTASTIC, although.. considering that Freddy's has been shut down for a while. Wouldn't they be a bit more worn? Like, they're in mint condition. While the building around them is in shambles and dirty. You could say Vanessa has been keeping up the maintenance, but I still think they'd show some age.. also missed opportunity to make them scarier by making them look like the withers! Bonnie's face falling off to show a disfigured childs face behind?? Dude the missed potential!

I also don't like the inclusion if Springtrap for lore reasons. That happens later! Also WHY is the Spring Bonnie suit all worn and messed up? That happens AFTER he gets spring locked! People would still know its William/Springtrap without making the suit already worn and old- GAAHHH! I could ramble on and on about all the stupid little nit picks I have about this movie. I have been a fan for a long time and had high expectations. But that doesn't mean I should rip this movie to shreds.

I gotta stop looking at all the down sides and really focus on the things I loved. The animatronics looked amazing, they were perfect. Especially Foxy. The inclusion/intended inclusion of Mat Pat, Markiplier and Cory(?) was wonderful. And a total surprise to me! The movie wasn't as bad as I feared it would be. It definitely wasn't as bad as it could have been. And for that I am grateful.

Overall I give ittt.... mmmm, a 5-6 out of 10..? <:D

Over the span of 10 years? Yeah.. likely 100s.. :(

I kind'a imagined the mirrors as like.. pressing the walls of two timelines/AUs together and poking a hole through them. There isn't really a space in between, its like a doorway. Now that's not to say that those void spaces don't exist- I'm just saying that how I imagined Jevil mirrors to work.

Could poking those metaphorical holes in the walls of an AU be more.. literal? Could Jevil going in and out of an AU multiple times eventually harm it in someway? Who knows.. Jevil would rather not dwell on it <XD

You're right on the money pal. All of Jevils food is given to Seam. He wont eat unless Seam has eaten. He wont sleep unless Seam is already asleep. He cant sleep when he tries but still All their new clothes and blankets go right to Seam. If they're camping out in the woods? Jevil will stay awake the whole night to keep the fire going.

Its really hard for Seam to see Jevil like this. Seam tries really hard to cover up when he's uncomfortable or unwell. He tries to keep up an image and tries to reassure Jevil that he's alright. But sometimes he just cant. Sometimes he's so hungry he's doubled over in pain with tears welling in his eye. Sometimes he's aching so much that he cant move. Sometimes he's so cold he loses feeling in his hands and feet..

He cant hide it then. And he cant convince Jevil that he needs to eat too. That he needs sleep too. Its really hard for the both of them..

Thaaaat would not work for my Seam <XD

My Seam is more of an organic creature rather than a stuffed doll. Cutting off his hands would just cause him to bleed. A lot. And without a powerful Darkener that can heal, I don't know if they could be reattached-

Peach/Mario and Daisy/Luigi are like, the ONLY exceptions I can think of. Both of those pairings are like, 99% canon/heavily suggested. If not just straight up canon.

Also unlike other ships/canon stuff, I really like those two pairings. I think they're neat :}

Its hard to say who had the worse punishment. I mean, suffering is suffering. And if you asked Seam, he'd say Jevil suffered more. And if you asked Jevil he'd say Seam suffered more. I guess its a matter of what you think is worse.

Jevil was locked away for years, by his own best friend. That magical aura that used to be his only comfort was now oppressing him. He was locked away with no contact with anyone for years. Except maybe occasionally King would venture down there and beat him up. Just to make Seam upset or becuase he just felt like it.

He was alone for years. It was dark, cold, and maddening. Always on the edge of starving and living in fear everyday that King would come back and beat him up again. His best friend had betrayed him.. yet he was still scared for Seam. He was all alone up there. Who knows how the King is treating him.. it was horrible..

Then you have Seam. Forced between a rock and a hard place. He betrayed his best friend and has lived with the crushing guilt ever since. He tried to visit Jevil to apologize, to explain himself- but he was caught.

His eye was gouged out and his mouth stitched shut. His neck and wrists were bound by shackles. He did his very best to bend to the Kings will. In hopes that King would not hurt him. But it was never enough. Seam suffered constant abuse by the King for years. The shackles drained his energy but he was still required to preform for the King. Its like King was toying with him, trying to see how far he would bend before breaking.

It took Jevil disappearing from his cell to break him. Seam thought that Jevil had died. His best friend. Who he had wronged and locked away, just died. All alone in a cell that he made.

As if it couldn't get worse. King accused him of letting Jevil go. And he was going to be punished for it. With Jevil dead, and a no doubt horrible punishment awaiting him.. there was nothing left to live for.. so he tried to.. well. You know..

Thankfully Jevil showed up just in time and got them both out of there! Ahahahahh aaaa <:DDDD Yeahh,,,,

Yes! Exactly! :D I go off the idea that Undertale and Deltarune are the "original" timelines. And everyone from my AU is from some kind of offshoot of those two timelines.

The chains don't make him sick to his stomach thankfully. But they do make him weaker in every way. His immune system is weakened, so he's more vulnerable to catching viruses.

His energy is also completely sapped. He feels sore and hungry all the time. He likely deals with back and shoulder pain due to the neck shackle and having to hold up his arms all the time.. :(

As much as Asgore might want to give that wretched King a piece of his mind.. Asgore isn't a fool. If he ever encountered the King, his immediate goal would be to get himself, and the rest of the group as far away from him as possible.

He didn't mistake him for another Spade King no,, but Seam and Jevil immediately noticed his royal vibe/appearance and was rather unsettled.. :{

@neojet280

Awww, the gang take big sleepies :}}

Grillby does eventually come around and apologize for beatin up Jevil. Jevil is quick to forgive him and states there's no hard feelings. :}

Thankfully Jevil does end up fully healing with minimal to no scarring. The burns looked pretty bad but Jevil was only held for a few seconds. Plus Darkeners probably heal differently so I'd like to say he ended up just fine :} 👍

I wasn't able to find the sketches I made of this--

But what I had in mind was DA was like this giant flat sun/moon with 2 white gloved, disembodied hands. He looks like this basically-

He is attached to the ceiling/walls and probably roams around playing music and monitoring everything. His personality is somewhat the same but he's more mellow and relaxed. He runs the arcade naturally.

I pictured DJMM looking like my Glamrock DJ but clown themed maybe? His proportions could be different and maybe his face is changed up a bit.. but overall its just DJ as a clown and he runs the daycare. His personality is mostly the same but he's more energetic.

@tallchest13-blog

XD I'm thinking that King will get what's coming to him eventually..

(Also thank you so much! :}})

The sad part about that is Seam isn't even that old. He's maybe in his 40-50s I imagined. He just looks so much older because all the stress and abuse has really weighed him down/aged him.. :'(((

Almost,, but no. Typically a generational gap is measured by 15-20 years. I imagined that the age gap between Seam and Jevil to be around 10-15 years or so..? So not quite intergenerational. :/

@soft-kachan

That miiiiiight make his grief worse..? I'm no expert on grief thankfully- but I imagine having a plushie that looks like your dead child miiiight stunt the healing process..?

What Grillby needs is to heal and move on from those deaths. So maybe not a plush of his child, but just a plush of something in general? Something that he can hold/hug when he needs too. If not that maybe Seam could make use of that fire proof fabric and make him some new clothes? 👀

@petra-creat0r

AAAAAA THANK YOUU SO MUCH!!!! 💗💗😭🍤💗

A while ago I actually drew what I imagine true swap Vanessa to look like! :}

Short-ish blonde hair that's tied up in a ponytail, purple Bonnie sweater and maybe bowling ally friendly yellow sneakers? Bandages on the face and baggy socks, all what you'd expect.

Now for Gregory I imagined his hair is cut neat and short. Maybe he's totally clean shaven as well. He's unusually neat and spiffy.. Almost like he's trying to keep up a clean and organized image..? 👀

His backstory will probably be similar/the same as Vanessa's. And his costume will probably be based off Fredbear instead of Spring Bonnie. Not sure what his other name would be though.. 🤔

@beryl-shade

This post I made talks all about Grillby's color changes and what they mean. So I'll take a snip bit of it! :}

If its hard to read the TLDR is that he's sad and burning very hot. :( Though the Deltarune AU Grillby is less "I'm sad :( I burn hotter now" and more "I am overcome with grief and have completely lost control of my body" :x

#my response #fnaf movie #fnaf movie spoilers #fnaf security breach #undertale #deltarune #seam and jevil #tw abuse #tw descriptions of gore #tw descriptions of abuse #tw gore #do not tag seam and jevil as ship #tw mentions of suicide #These asks were really fun to answer #I love all the questions about my deltarune au it makes my heart happy :}}}

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thefurbynecromancer · 4 months ago

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Ok I have some things to say about the ending of despicable me 4.

Spoilers under the break

Ok so we see all the villains in prison right? first off, Scarlet & Herb are there which is fucking insane. How the fuck do they look almost exactly the same. Assuming Scarlet is like 20 in Minions (I feel like she's probably about 30, but we'll make her younger just to demonstrate) & assuming there's a year in-between despicable me movies, she would be like 66. If the years in-between releases count then she would be like fucking 76. I don't think a single grey streak is all you would have at those ages.

Vector is there also, which is crazy. How did they get him off the fucking moon? Plus, if you're including the lore of the Mooned short, how did they get him off fucking Mars??? Did they get his ass out of space just to arrest him?

Bratt. my poor, poor babygirl.

the fact he still has his white undershirt hurts. He's still desperately clinging to his Evil Bratt identity that they stripped him of. Evil Bratt was all he had, to be completely stripped of it must have been so depressing to him. The only reason he seems happy here is because they're singing an 80s song, he finally has a way of regressing back into his one & only comfort.

Also: where's Clive? My headcannons are either

1, he's scrap metal. they just scrapped him for parts once they found him

2, he's still out there somewhere, & he's sending Bratt letters in prison. Bratt definitely has an Evil Bratt poster folded up underneath his pillow that he looks at & cries.

Their outfit choices are hilarious also, big fan of the fact they just recolored scarlet's dress orange instead of giving her a normal ass prison outfit. Also vector literally just has his warm up suit on they didn't even change it.

Also Vector flossing is so fucking funny

#despicable me 4 #Despicable me 4 ending

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genericpuff · 2 years ago

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I've come to the stunning realization-

-that Lore Olympus is basically to the webtoons industry what Youtube Kids is to Youtube.

And I'm not talking about the general "Youtube Kids" label, I'm talking about those videos - Elsagate, Johny Johny, Cocomelon, Mickey Mouse tattooing Spongebob or whatever other weird example you can think of - which are explicitly designed to game the algorithm, turn views into money, and most of all, gain and keep the attention of the one demographic that won't question what they're consuming - children.

!!!!THIS POST HAS FAST PASS SPOILERS AHEAD!!!!

I mean, this is undoubtedly just a tinfoil hat theory, but think about it:

Bright oversaturated colors that are attention-grabbing.

Meme faces and 'lol rAnDoM' humor even when it doesn't suit the situation at all.

Art that's all around ugly and cheap on a technical level but still stands out due to its color design and prioritized advertising.

Vapid surface level scene-to-scene writing that doesn't connect or have any meaning in any coherent way.

One-dimensional projection characters who are easy to manipulate and sway for audience sympathy or anger even if those opinions change on a dime based on actions in the moment.

Cliffhangers that are less like true cliffhangers and more like clickbait. Episodes nowadays tend to be filled with drawn out plotlines, vague hints that can be applied to just about any school of thought, and non-sequitur memes to fill the time until they can hook the reader with another cliffhanger to keep them coming back next week.

Coin prices have gone up but episode length, substance, and quality have noticeably gone down. Even if they reach the same panel count they usually have, dialogue is minimal and pacing is brutally inconsistent to the point that plot progression is often non-existent.

Banner ads that run constantly, often in the first or second (or both) slots, with push notifications and pop-up ads also becoming more frequent whether you're subscribed to the comic or not.

And underneath ALL of that, we've got blatant objectifying and sexualization of female characters regardless of context, misogyny that claims to be progressive, racist undertones, borderline fetish content that constantly toes the Terms of Services line, normalization of problematic/toxic relationship dynamics, a creator who's more interested in 'getting back' at critics than writing an actual story, and underlying messaging both from the characters' and the creator's behavior that encourage witch-hunting, rejection of accountability, and blind devotion.

All this is essentially why I've given up consuming LO entirely, beyond just on a critical level as of late. There was a time long ago when I stuck around in the hopes it was going to get better, that maybe it was just going through a "rough patch" as some stories do. After that I stuck around because I wanted to see how it could possibly pull off its ending. And then after that, I simply stuck around for the laughs and community banter. But now I don't even find it funny anymore, the punchline of how bad it is has gotten incredibly old. And at this rate, as much as we'd like to believe it's going to end in its third season as it's been mentioned in the past, we also were told it was going to end between 100-200 episodes prior to that - the way it's going, I can't even stick around "for the ending" because LO is going to be around for as long as WT tries to milk it, despite it no longer having a heartbeat.

As much as I've loved talking shit about this comic and it's undoubtedly the main reason so many of you followed me here in the first place, I'm not going to lock myself in some kind of purgatory hell just to be proven what I already know is going to happen - either the comic continues on forever, doomed to be a lifeless mascot for the zombie corporation that is WT, or RS eats shit while trying to stick the landing with a plane that has no functional parts.

There's a quote from Caddicarus that I couldn't help but think of as I typed this up, from his nearly-decade-old review of Dalmations 3 (oh god, it's nearly been a decade since that video came out what the actual fuck-)

"And this is where I officially lost all fucking care. I realized it wasn't going to end anytime soon. It's one of those rare instances where the novelty of how awful everything is actually gets really tiresome and unfunny." - Caddicarus

#this isn't me saying i'm not gonna talk about LO ever again #i'm just explaining why i haven't engaged with it directly for weeks now and why my LO essays are less often nowadays #i'm even slowly phasing out of the critical community for it #it's just exhausting #and bad for my mental health #i'd rather put my efforts into something positive like rekindled than continue to give this propaganda on a stick more attention #i still love all the pals in the community but it's more to do with the content itself that's being discussed than the people discussing it #lore olympus critical #anti lore olympus #antiloreolympus #lo critical

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din-miller · 1 year ago

Text

Natant

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Word count: 1.1k

Summary: Joel teaching Ellie to swim as you watch from the sidelines

Warnings: can be read as either tlou tv show or the game, fluff, Joel being a nervous wreck each time Ellie's head is underwater, set in Jackson, no spoilers for part 2 fyi, Joel might be a little ooc but the dudes finally fucking happy.

A/N: sorry about the odd gif, couldn't find one that was tlou related.

° Natant

(adj) Swimming or floating

"Again."

"Seriously? How many times are you forcing me to pencil dive?" Ellie groaned, awkwardly adjusting her swim shirt. It's actually Maria's shirt, and the swim trunks she's wearing belong to one of the local teens. They're both a little too big for her small frame but so far it hasn't been a huge problem.

"Until your form is completely straight," Joel responded, "We ain't leavin' until you've done five perfect dives, kiddo."

You snorted at Ellie's annoyed grunt. Joel gave you a soft smile before quickly turning back to make sure Ellie hadn't fallen off the small cliff and drowned in the three seconds he had taken his eyes off of her.

"Keep your arms tightly against your side and your feet pointed downward to-,"

"-reduce the force of impact upon entry." Ellie finished, words most likely burned into her brain at this point, "I know, you've told me like a thousand fucking times already."

She took a deep breath before jumping into the water, back perfectly straight. Your eyes quickly move to where Joel is standing at the edge of the embankment, rocking back and forth on his heels.

He's nervous, been this way all day. It's such a small mundane thing; learning how to swim. Joel had told you once that him and Tommy learned by being thrown into the water by their drunken father.

It wasn't going to be like that with Ellie.

You could see his lips moving, silently counting the seconds she's under the water. You have no doubt that when he reaches ten, he'll be diving in to get her.

He got to eight when her head finally broke the surface of the water, a loud exhale left her body, followed by an even louder inhale of air.

"Did you fucking see that?" Ellie grinned, "I touched the bottom of the river."

"That you did, that you did." Joel chuckled, arm extended to pull her out of the water. He leaned down to whisper something in her ear and Ellie's grin became even wider.

You didn't even have time to brace yourself before you had a lap full of a soaking fifteenth year old. You squealed in surprise and Ellie giggled, something that's becoming more and more frequent lately.

Your bathing suit cover-up – one of Joel's plaid button ups you've claimed as your own – is getting soaked by the second. It's warm out, the sun absorbing the droplets quickly, but you hadn't really planned on getting wet. Dipping your toes in the water sure. Not wearing half the river.

Ellie rolled off of you and onto the grass, "Man, you should've seen your face! I thought you were going to have a heart attack."

You dug your fingers into her side, eyes searching for Joel as you did so. You're not surprised to find him already looking your way. Tommy had once joked that Joel's eyes never truly leave you or Ellie.

They don't, Joel had told you later when you had repeated what Tommy said. He's always looking, always making sure his girls are okay.

Ellie bats your hand away, pleading with you to stop tickling her. You listened and moved your hand up to her head instead, removing her ponytail to thread your fingers through her dark hair.

Ellie slowly laid her head down on your bare thighs, still a little hesitant on whether or not she's crossing boundaries. She's not, never could.

You don't say anything, don't dare to move a muscle. You just wait until she's relaxed enough before returning to massaging her temple. She lets out a small tired yawn.

Ellie tilted her head to where Joel's leaning against a nearby tree, silently watching with a carefree smile, "You waiting for an invitation or what old man?"

Joel huffed, mumbling about how he's not old and settled himself behind you, pulling you back against his chest with your head resting on his shoulder. One hand propped his body up and the other unbuttoned your shirt enough to snake his hand inside.

You glanced up at him, brow raised as if to say 'really?' and Joel laid his palm flat against your stomach, drawing you in closer to him. He sighed contentedly against the skin of your neck before pressing a delicate kiss against your jaw. You lean into the warmth of his lips.

There's a puff of warm air on your right leg and you watch as Ellie's head tilted to the side, eyes closed and lips parted. You can't fight back the smile that graces your lips. She's falling asleep on you. If that isn't the biggest sign of trust, you don't know what is.

Behind you Joel grunted, but it's lacking his normally gruffness, "Kid's still got three dives left to complete before we head back."

You rolled your eyes, "The water will still be here tomorrow, Joel. I'll wake up extra early and make sure no infected managed to outsmart your traps."

Joel hugged you closer, "Respectfully, ma'am, no you won't. Not without me, at least."

"We'll wake up tomorrow," You corrected, then sighed, "I wish everyday was like this. Us three, together."

Joel's silent behind you, but you don't feel like you've crossed a line. You let him have a moment to gather his thoughts, you always do.

"It could be," Joel said, "Jackson doesn't have keys – hell Jackson barely has front doors that close all the way-,"

You can't help but snort. As much as Jackson's thriving in an apocalyptic world, there's still flaws. It's not like the town has access to new key making equipment. Some doors don't even have doorknobs anymore. The residents survive by trust that the few belongings they have are safe inside their homes.

"-but if my doorknob had a working lock, you'd be the first to have a key."

"Even before Tommy?"

"Especially before Tommy."

You're not stupid, you know he's asking you to move in with him. He hasn't exactly been subtle about it. Almost all of your clothing is hung up in his closet – by his doing. Some of your more meaningful knickknacks you've collected over the years have found home on a shelf in his room.

He built you your own hook to hang up your coat.

Ellie had once joked that he's hopeless. You can't help but agree.

Joel's body goes stiff behind you and you realise you haven't answered him, "Does Ellie know?"

"She won't shut up about it. That girl needs you as much as I do," He admitted, "That scares me sometimes y'know."

You nod, because you do know. You're in the same boat. Losing him, losing Ellie, that would destroy you. You gently brush the back of your hand against Ellie's cheek, and snuggle back against Joel, "Can my key be multi-coloured?"

"Your key can be made from diamonds I've foraged for with my own two hands if that means you'll say yes."

"How about a wooden one spray painted?"

Joel hummed and turned your head to seal your lips together in a brief kiss, "I'll get right on that, darlin'."

#you know full well this mother-fucker has eighteen deadbolt locks on each door and window #this is my first tlou fic #the last of us #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller #ellie williams #joel & ellie #ellie included fic #fluff #inspired by a word #justice joy writes #tw: alchohol mention

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my-midnight-musings-xoxo · 3 months ago

Text

Spoilers for MadK!

---

Something I absolutely adore about MadK is the designs of the characters. Often otherworldly creatures aren't monstrous in appearance, they're usually pretty people with differing hair color, eyes, skin or an extra appendage. Not all supernatural creatures are like this, but I've noticed it enough to find it a little..weird? Artists can do whatever they of course, but I really like creative and bold character designs, I like unique and strange, especially when it comes to supernatural creatures! Sometimes that's the point for them to look human but different, I just love unique characters.

MadK does this wonderfully, J and Datenshou being strong contenders. The angel wings with the lion paws and tail look beautiful, and the wings give an excellent silhouette, with the angelic persona he puts on suits him (J really is a fallen angel now that I think about it). And I adore Dantenshou striking look. No facial features is eye catching as is, but his tassels (?) and elegant robes lean into that dreamy, princely look, for me anyways!

And Fjord, I love his eyes the most they're so expressive, if I'm remembering correctly I'm pretty sure he was inspired by a lettuce..

He has the childish and pompous feel and look to him, but he's not without a heart!!

I find Ryo Suzuri being inspired by food hilarious but also creative, inspiration can come from the strangest places.

I'm going to be honest this was brought on by 'Demon Slayer is Extraordinary Incompetent" a video essay I love which made me think about the demon designs. They aren't all like this!! But I saw a clip of Akaza and it made me think about how many disappointing demon designs there are, so here we are!

Oh, I also love the background characters and the ones we briefly see. That count, unfortunately I can't remember his name but the man with a..ostrich body, a big bird of some kind, never fails to freak me out. Going into MadK I expected human-like demons, even with J I just figured the author was giving us their most creative, but with the bird guy and Dantenshou I realized I was very wrong, and I was quite happy to be wrong.

I love the manga <3

#suzuri ryo #madk manga #madk

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chuuyrr · 2 years ago

Note

Hi! I'm in love with your Gojo!reader fic and got this idea!

Could I request Chuuya seeing Gojo-san receiving chocolates and other gifts for Valentine's Day when they're on a date but Gojo reassures him he's the only one in her heart.

the only one — a valentine's day special

bungo stray dogs x gojo! reader

masterlist of infinity

╰➤ CW(s): possible spoilers for jujutsu kaisen and bungo stray dogs, jealous! chuuya, fluff/comfort content

╰➤ PAIRING(s): nakahara chuuya

╰➤ SYNOPSIS: being the well-known head and beautiful pride of the gojo family under the heiwa organization of tokyo, it's not surprising that you receive attention and gifts from others, especially during valentine's day, which irks your devilishly handsome boyfriend, nakahara chuuya.

valentine's day wasn't something you really celebrated, gojo [name], unless you counted annoying your friends and colleague who acted like kunikida doppo from the armed detective agency back at your organization as a celebration.

to you, february 14 was just a cutesy-heartsy day when you'd get free chocolates and gifts from whoever thought you were pretty and such. you didn't mind the attention; in fact, you liked it, but it wasn't something you did out of love—until nakahara chuuya came into your life.

initially, you had no intention of dating the port mafia executive. it was a wonder that you two ended up together even.

it was a complicated relationship, but you and chuuya were smitten. it was crazy. even when you weren't together yet and you still resented him for punching you in the face and breaking your black sunglasses as dazai nullified your ability during the first meeting, the way you two fight makes you and him feel so in love.

nonetheless, that blossomed into a relationship between you and chuuya, and with it, you finally understood what it was like to be in love and how it felt. chuuya, your boyfriend, always goes all out for you. given his and your line of work, time was something you barely had, so chuuya really makes it up to you the best he can.

in any case, if it isn't you or wine, what else would he spend his entire executive salary on?

and since it's valentine's day, chuuya went extra all out. your boyfriend arrived at your organization in tokyo, surprising you at work with his sleek black car, dressed in an expensive suit and tie, surprising you with a bouquet of red roses and a paper bag of luxury branded clothes and dresses in hand, which soon led to a dinner date to a fancy restaurant he booked out wherein chuuya ordered you the finest steaks and wines, and rented musicians to serenade you with your favorite love songs.

it was a perfect evening, but then..

"chocolate mousse cake with raspberries."

you and chuuya looked up at the waiter who had placed the dessert in front of you.

"i didn't order this," you said, blinking as you pushed down your black sunglasses.

"she didn't order that," chuuya repeated in a stern tone as he gently held your hand in his.

"it's on the house. the chef wanted you to have it. oh, and the receptionist also wanted me to give this to you too, miss," you had received another round of gifts, but this time it was chocolates. expensive chocolates.

"what the fuck?" chuuya muttered, his eyes hardening into a glare as he looked past you to spot the aforementioned restaurant patrons.

chuuya released of your hand, quickly downed his own glass of wine, and sighed sharply, "well, someone's famous."

"oh, please. i'm not that famous chuuy—you came to a halt as you heard your phone ring and vibrate from your purse. you excused yourself and picked up the phone, only for chuuya to narrow his eyes as you groaned, "ugh, i'm not in tokyo right now. just leave the bouquet of flowers and gifts at my apartment door."

you put your phone away after answering the call and returned your gaze to chuuya, who was resting his chin on his hand that was covering his mouth, elbow propped on the table, blue eyes avoiding yours. his free fingers rhythmically tapped against the table's edge.

"chuuya?" you tilted your head to the side.

"does this happen to you every valentine's day?" chuuya asked, still refusing to look at you.

"the gifts? err, yeah," you nodded, scratching the back of your head.

"tch," you frowned at chuuya's scoff.

"chuuya, look at me," you said as you moved all of the gifts you'd received away and extended your hand to take his in yours.

chuuya closed his eyes briefly before opening them and turning around to face you, finally locking eyes with your heavensent aquamarine six eyes that you inherited from the god of skies as you removed your black round sunglasses, but refusing to say anything.

"you know, chuuya, i never really took valentine's day as something serious or special," you started, brushing your fingers across his knuckles, "to me, it was just a day where i got extra attention and free gifts from people."

"then why are you telling me this?" chuuya asked, his brow furrowed into a frown.

"because when i met you, i realized that valentine's day has changed now that i have you," you exclaimed with a closed-eye smile, "even if it's not valentine's day, even when we fight or are apart, you never forget to make me feel loved every single day, and when we do spend time together, it's always special, and it doesn't compare to the attention and gifts i received and continue to receive from others."

chuuya's eyes widened as those words left your mouth. as a bright red blush spread across his cheeks, you could almost hear his heart skip a beat. it made you giggle.

"you're the only one in my heart, nakahara chuuya-kun," you said, leaning in and pressing your lips against his, not caring if the people in the restaurant saw you kissing. in fact, it was only right. they should understand that this man is yours, and you are his, and no one else's.

chuuya closed his eyes, leaning in closer to return the kiss and cupping your face in his hand at the same time. it was a deep and passionate kiss, a little possessive, but you didn't mind. you loved it. the way the wine tastes on his lips, the way he's so close and intimate with his touch.

after a short while, he drew back and stood up from the table, causing your eyes to widen.

"chuuya?" you looked up at him.

chuuya approached you and took both of your hands in his, gently pulling you up from your seat and onto your feet. he wrapped his arm around your waist and yanked you away from the table.

chuuya's glare was fixed on the chef and receptionist who had dared to gift you for a brief moment. they were lucky it was valentine's day and he still had some control over his temper because of you. he would have punched their daylights out and thrashed the place with his gravity manipulation ability if it hadn't been.

chuuya lead you into the beautiful garden of the fancy restaurant where you two were alone. he then embraced you before you could say anything, holding you close to his chest and kissing the back of your neck.

"i'm sorry for getting jealous," he said quietly, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

"it's okay," you laughed, patting chuuya on the back as he continued to hug you, "you're the only one for me, and i don't want anyone else."

"you're the only one for me, too, [name]," with that chuuya pulling away just enough to kiss your face, making you giggle fondly. chuuya took both of your hands in his and smiled at you, admiring how beautiful you looked under the moonlight right now, "i love you."

chuuya's hands moved down to your waist, and before you knew it, the two of you were swaying gently into a slow dance. your eyes widened in surprise as more lights filled in the beautiful flower garden outside the restaurant like fireflies as the musicians in the background began to play their violins and piano.

"happy valentine's day, my love," chuuya said to you lovingly as he kissed your forehead.

valentine's day truly changed ever since then.

[ author's notes ! i ignored class for this fic FHSJSKSDF but it's ok. i really wanted to finish this and have you all read it for valentine's :( consider it my valentine's day gift hihi. i hope you like it ya'll. i really enjoyed this request !! please i was giggling and kicking my feet when i saw it in my inbox 😭💗 ]

#chuuya x reader #nakahara chuuya x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #bsd x reader #chuuya fluff #bsd oneshot #bsd imagines #bsd scenario #bsd headcanons #chuuya x y/n #chuuya x you #chuuya imagines #bsd chuuya

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angel-eyes05 · 1 year ago

Text

bite the hand (chapter 4)

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

pairing: spider-woman!oc x miguel o’hara

summary: lorena's whole world was taken away from her in the blink of an eye, after she accidentally broke a canon event. lucky for her though, she was able to find a portal watch in her dimension and used it to get out before she glitched out of existence. unfortunately though, running from dimension to dimension, she's been named as an anomaly by the spider society. now, she's constantly on the run from them, their leader in particular. when she eventually gets caught though, she's recruited onto a mission to catch another anomaly who might be from her past. to her dismay though, her partner on this mission is her very captor. will she be able to stop arguing with him for long enough to get the job done?

info: enemies to lovers, maybe a slow burn depending on chapter count, oc is 24 and miguel is 27, both oc and miguel are super sad lmao, they're also both super violent so, they also hate each other what a slay, in regards to my oc you can read her character sheet right here

warnings: there might be spoilers for atsv in this so watch the movie before reading this, cursing, gun violence, recreational drug use

word count: 3.0k

notes: this one was silly i liked writing this chapter

-----------------

She had a hard time looking at Miguel while he helped her get her new web shooters. She was sure he noticed all the chemical burns on her wrists, but he preferred not to ask about them. Either he already knew what they were, probably from those monitors he was talking about earlier, or he had preferred to keep those kinds of details about each other to themselves. She at least agreed on that notion.

But she couldn’t shake it out of her mind, the dream she had the night before, while he was handling her forearms. His strong smell that used to sting her nostril hairs now had a sweeter scent to it. Lorena couldn’t help but imagine the hands that were around her wrists down below handling her waist, basically clawing for more of it. She still disliked him, at least a little bit, but a layer of lust had been added onto that hatred.

“Try not to break these like you break everything else, anomaly,” he said coldly, dropping her arms once he finished and walked away.

Nevermind, the lust was gone. That word was enough for Lorena to lose all of her feelings in a second. Miguel was attractive…but he would be so much more attractive if he shut his mouth. This is why she decided to stay away from men after she lost Eddie.

Lorena sighed and followed Miguel as he walked up over to a pad to open his portal watch. Lorena still had a day pass on her wrist, Miguel not trusting her enough to give her a real watch. “Ok, we’re gonna hop into dimension 1732 right now. I need you stay close to me and just follow my lead. Don’t even think about wandering off,” he berated her like a child. “Don’t you think it would be easier if you just told me the plan?”

“I’ll tell you when it’s convenient for me,” he said sharply before shielding his face with his mask and walking into the portal. “I’ll tell you when it’s convenient for me,” she repeated in a mocking tone before also pulling her mask over her face, then following him.

Her vision was bombarded with bright pink, blue, and orange neon lights from the surrounding buildings. Her own neon purple suit blended in almost perfectly with her new environment, and so did Miguel’s, especially considering the fact everyone on the streets was wearing a costume of some sorts. The city was so alive for such a late time in the night. It looks similar to Miguel’s but more technologically advanced.

Vendors had their carts laid out on the sides of the streets, selling whole assortments of goods, from candied treats, to bright decorations. Children were running in the streets with sparklers and dancers were parading around in graphic vinyl and neon hair decorations.

“What’s going on?” Lorena yelled to Miguel over the loud music. “They’re celebrating,” he shouted back. “Yeah no shit, but what exactly,” she yelled as she rolled her eyes. “They just ended a war with an alien race.” Lorena stopped walking to stare at him. “How stupid do you really think I am O’Hara?” “No I’m serious, look at the posters.” He directed her eyes to a poster with the green aliens on it. The one in the front had elf-like ears and purple stripes going down the sides of its face, while the two in the back were morphing into human forms. “Huh…ok then,” Lorena said in disbelief. “Come on, we have to keep moving if we’re gonna meet my informant in time.”

Miguel put his hand to her back to guide Lorena throughout the crowds of people. She changed her pace when she felt his hand though, not wanting to feel his contact.

She walked through the streets, eyes constantly jumping from one attraction to the next. Signs blinking in the distance, fireworks bursting in the navy blue sky, performers in the streets. The spectacle reminded her of hew own hometown celebrations, bringing a warm smile to Lorena’s face.

Her eyes were drawn below when she felt a quick tug at the pant part of her suit. She looked down to find a little boy, with a bundle of sparklers in his right hand. “¿Quieres una?” he asked her. She looked over at Miguel for confirmation, an exaggerated pleading look on her face. He sighed, then shrugged. She smiled and crouched down to his height and took one from his hand. “Gracias, mijo,” she said sweetly. She took one for Miguel too and let the boy light them up. He ran away, calling for his mother quickly after, laughing. Lorena smiled to herself for a moment before turning around to give one of the sparklers to Miguel. She was surprised to find him being bombarded by a child as well.

This one was a little girl running around giving out lollipops and rock candies. He was also crouched down at her height, having a little conversation with her about her treats. She had a smile that could light up a room. Lorena couldn’t hear what they were saying over the music, but she could assume it was a good conversation by the way the little girl jumped on top of him to give him a hug. He seemed to freeze for a moment, but he eventually returned the embrace. He took a lollipop and the little girl ran away. He stood back up to find Lorena staring at him, eventually handing him the sparkler. “...What?” he asked after she kept standing and staring at him. “Nothing, nothing. I just didn’t know you had a soft spot for kids. I would assume a big, scary guy like you would scare them all away.”

She must’ve said something wrong, because his relaxed mood suddenly shifted back to its ridged nature. “Lets keep moving, we’ll be late,” he said coldly. She brushed off the switch up, just attributing it to his personality. “Hey, I got you a sparkler, why didn’t you get me a lollipop?” she eventually asked. “Escaped my mind,” he said, rushing ahead of her.

After struggling to keep up with him for a few minutes, Miguel finally stopped in front of a building, putting an arm out in front of her to stop her from continuing, though she just pushed it down anyways. The building had a small neon sign out front to discern it from the rest of the places in the alley they’d wandered into. “You stay behind me, and you follow my lead. You mess this up and-.” “You’ll kill me?” she sarcastically finished his sentence and looked up at him.

She didn’t have to see his face to know he was seething under his mask, which only made her smirk grow. He grunted and led in front, opening the door.

As the walked in, loud music overwhelmed Lorena’s ears, as the light from the outside failed to make its way into the dark space, only lit by the lights in the bar for the bartenders. Dancers, both male and female, dressed in as little as possible, danced on top of platforms as strobe lights went off around them and people tossed money at them. “You know O’Hara, if you really wanted to take me out, I think this is a really shitty spot for a first date,” she shouted at the man in front of her as he guided her through the strip club. “¿Te callarás durante dos segundos?” he shouted back at her over the noise. “Ok, calm down big guy.” She blushed once her shouting was made more noticeable when they entered into a quiet room in the back.

In this room, people were trading different weapons and explosives with each other. They each looked like they had their own story to tell. She would ask all of them for it if they didn’t look like they would bite her face off. Lorena bumped into Miguel’s back when he suddenly stopped walking. He stood in front of a steel door, taking a deep breath, then knocking. The little sliding peek hole opened, a pair of beady green eyes staring at Miguel from the other side.

After a moment of staring, the door slid open, allowing Miguel and Lorena to walk inside. The room had brown wood covering the floor and walls. There were two Winchester chairs sitting in the middle of the room next to a wooden table, and a Winchester couch. The table and couch seemed to have some kind of scratch marks on them. Lorena knew exactly where she wouldn’t be sitting now. In back of the room, there was a dark brown wooden desk with a leather chair sitting in it.

In the chair was a woman with long, white hair, and a black eye mask on. “Hi Miggy!” she announced enthusiastically from her chair. “Hola Kitty,” he said back, letting his mask disappear off his face. Lorena was caught off guard by how much his tone had changed. His rough, cold voice that she had grown to get used to was replaced with a smooth, charming diction. The woman hopped up from her chair and walked around her desk and took Miguel in her arms. She rubbed her hands all over his back and kissed his cheek before backing up, but still holding him by his broad shoulders.

Once she backed away, Lorena was able to get a better view of the rest of her outfit. She was wearing a tight, black, spandex suit, her cleavage basically spilling out onto the floor. The neckline of the suit was lined with a white fur which also lined the back of her forearms and her calves. She also sported a black choker with a pendant on the front, almost as if it were some kind of collar.

“And who’s this you’ve brought with you, Miguel. You know it’s rude to bring in guests and not introduce them,” the woman said, turning her attention towards Lorena. Miguel elbowed her side, signaling her to introduce herself, almost as if it would kill him to say her name. Lorena took off her mask, allowing her crimson hair to flow down to her shoulders. “Lorena Reyes,” she said, extending out her arm. “Felicia Hardy, pleasure to meet you.” She returned the hand shake and smiled at Lorena. “It’s always fun to see what new Spider Miggy decides to run around with for a week or two. I was in your shoes at one point,” she said, walking back to her seat. “Wasn’t I Miguel?” Lorena blushed uncomfortably.

“I appreciate the jokes Felicia, but I’d really prefer to get to business,” Miguel said, ignoring Lorena’s reactions. “Of course, take a seat,” she said motioning to the chairs. Miguel and Lorena both sat down in their individual seats. “So, you’re looking for a variant from Earth-86?” “Not looking, we already found him,” Miguel clarified. “Ok, so then what do you need me for?” Felicia asked. “You know everything about everyone. From every different universe. So you’ve definitely heard something about this guy. And we need to know what we’re getting into.” “So you didn’t just come to see my pretty face?” she flirted. “Not unless that pretty mouth of yours has information I want to know,” he flirted back.

“Could we keep the banter to a minimum while there’s other company here?” Lorena asked, very obviously uncomfortable with being a third wheel. Miguel sighed, and Felicia giggled. “Well, I have heard a few things. But what’s in it for me?” Miguel rose from his chair and walked over to the desk, and intertwined his fingers with hers. “Maybe we could go on some more...missions again soon?” Felicia giggled while a groan escaped from Lorena. “Alright,” Felicia said, shooing Miguel away back to his chair. Lorena rolled her eyes at Miguel as he sat down.

“This Eddie Brock guy’s been hoping different dimensions for a couple of days now, right?” she asked, scanning through his file. “We think so,” Miguel responded. “I figured. Had a couple of guys in here yesterday who said they were working with him or something.” Miguel shifted up in his seat. “What do you mean ‘or something’?” “Just some stuff about giving him materials for something. Sounded like a satellite dish to be honest. No idea for what though.”

Lorena tried to search her memories for what that could possibly mean. Then it started to click. She widened her eyes and turned to Miguel. “The symbiote he was attached to was an alien. It’s probably trying to send out a signal to the rest of its kind.” Miguel kept the same stern, pondering look on his face. “It makes sense. Did any of them say they were working with him?” he asked Felicia. “Hmm, no I don’t think so. From what they were saying, he seemed to be a ‘go it alone’ kind of guy.” Lorena nodded. “Sounds about right.” “Do you know this guy or something?” Felicia asked. Lorena had blocked her out, going into the depths of her memories for a moment. “A version of him at least. He was a part of one of her canon events,” Miguel responded in place for Lorena. “Oh, I’m so sorry sweetie, I didn’t know,” Felicia apologized. Lorena snapped out of her daze. “No, no, it’s fine. It was a while ago anyways.”

“Well, that’s all I know on the situation. If you two need anything else, Miggy knows how to give me a call,” Felicia said, winking at Miguel. He blew her a kiss as him and Lorena and him raised up from seats. “Gracias hermosa,” Miguel said to her, walking up to her and giving her a kiss on the cheek. “Can I actually talk to you for a second?” Lorena could hear Felicia whisper to Miguel. Miguel turned around to face Lorena, who was waiting by the door. “Go ahead, I’ll catch up with you outside.” So much for sticking together. Lorena rolled her eyes as she put her mask back on and walked through the strip club back outside to the alley.

She leaned up against the wall, eyes closed. She could still see the neon lights blinking through her eyelids. This whole celebration brought back memories from her teenage years. While growing up, she hadn’t participated in many American traditions, her aunt and uncle having been immigrants. But one year on the 4th of July, Eddie and all of her friends had invited her out to a fireworks show in the park. They all sat on the lawn, Lorena, Eddie, Harry, and Gwen high on edibles, while Peter and MJ sat sober. Lorena was nuzzled into Eddie’s chest, laying down watching the explosion of colors above her in the sky. The space above her had turned into every color of the rainbow. Reds, blues, purples, greens. She hadn’t seen many things like it.

At one point, she stopped looking at the fireworks to admire the sight around her. Peter and MJ cutely cuddling, wrapped in the blanket they were laying, staring up at the scene. Harry and Gwen sharing a popcorn, just talking about their days. Eddie. Seeing the reflection of the show above in his ocean blue eyes. The flow of his strawberry blonde hair being disrupted by the slight breeze. She was enamored by him. “You okay?” she heard him ask. She stared up into his eyes. “Yeah. I am.” He kissed the top of her head, before pulling her in closer to him. The fireworks above them were only a small representation of the way they felt for each other.

Lorena was quickly startled and pulled out of her daze by the sound of the door to the club being thrown open. She opened her eyes to Miguel bolting out of building. “Stop standing there and run!” he shouted at her. Before she could ask any questions, her spider sense was set ablaze. Her suspicions were confirmed when she felt the wind next to her face being broken by the speed of a bullet. As if they had a mind of her own, her legs quickly began moving at a fast speed to catch up to Miguel.

She turned her head to look behind her, finding five guys chasing after them with pistols in their hands. Two were running and three were on some kind of hoverboards. With more bullets flying their way, Lorena screamed out to Miguel. “What the fuck did you do in there?!” “Can we talk about this later!” he shouted back. She groaned loudly, shooting a web out of her webshooters and swinging ahead of him. “Did you forget you had these?” she snarkily remarked. He grunted at her, but then quickly attached his bright orange webs to a telephone pole and swung with her.

With the next round of bullets flying, Lorena decided to take charge of the situation, and shot one of her webs at one of the attackers face, knocking him to the floor. The two of them flew over the vendor carts, while the lackeys swerved through the crowds. Miguel quickly detached himself from his web and jumped on one of the men, scratching at his face with his claws, knocking him over. Once he got back to swinging, Lorena’s eyes on her mask gave him an annoyed look.

“What?” “Do you really have to be so flashy about it?” “Cállate pendeja.”

Once they were away from the crowds, the three men left started firing again. “Are we just gonna keep swinging like idiots, or are you gonna open up the portal to get us out of here?” Lorena yelled to him, aggravated by the amount of bullets grazing her suit. “I’m working on it!” he shouted at her clicking at the watch on his wrist. Suddenly, her peripherals caught the sight of an sunset light in the distance. “Keep up!” Miguel called, changing his direction to swing towards the portal.

The fire of the bullets must have increased, since Lorena was finding it harder to dodge them. Miguel swung through the portal first, but before she could get in all the way, she felt one bullet go into her thigh and one into her tricep. She called out in pain before being consumed by the orange glow around her.

-----------------

NEXT CHAPTER

a/n: i love writing this, idc if its not getting a lot of traction as my other work tbh

taglist: @the-ikran-man @jenniferdixon05207 @yuuuumii @elwyn7 @waniesss @lust-for-pan @natthernandez @pix-stuff @ang3lf4c3 @artfulthoughtswp

#miguel o'hara x oc #spiderman 2099 #across the spiderverse #miguel o’hara #fanfic #fanfiction #fem!reader #into the spider verse #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderverse #oc x miguel o'hara

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simpingcowboy · 2 years ago

Text

Lovelight

Pairing: Marcus Pike x GN!Reader, established relationship

Word Count: 2k+

Warnings: Being aggressively in love with Marcus Pike, light use of pet names, getting almost stood up, feeling of romantic inadequacy, just a teensy bit meta, The Wizard of Oz spoilers?

Summary: Even the worst of days are made better with your boyfriend Marcus Pike around

A/N: Another one down for my Year of ABBA as part of the "Year Of" Creations @yearofcreation2023 February edition!!! I've been on a Marcus kick so here we are!

It was a miserable day. A long, terrible, tiresome day. Even your room, your personal sanctuary, felt dreary and gloomy. The wide window offered no comfort either. The rain falling over D.C. clouded the skies. The whole world looked dark from inside your apartment. You let out a sigh of exhaustion; surrendering to the comfort of your bed. As you stare up at the blank old dirty ceiling, a soft knock is heard from the door.

"Babe?" The voice calls, slowly unlocking the door.

You perk up at that voice. Marcus…you smile to yourself, realizing your partner is at the door. Finally, using the spare key you'd given him ages ago.

"I'm here! Come on in." You call back to him.

You sit up on the bed, and make your way over to the door. The two of you practically bump into each other as you meet in the narrow doorway. Marcus looks as perfect as ever. Nicely clean shaven, hair just a bit tussled from the day, in his usual black suit and blue button up combo, a beautiful bundle of flowers in his hands.

"Woah!" Marcus says, trying not to knock you over. "Hi Baby," he says cheerfully, "I heard you had a bit of a day so I uhh thought I'd surprise you." A big smile overcomes his face as he tilts the flowers towards you. "Tada!"

Your eyes shift down to the bouquet. You find yourself giggling at the barcode still peeking out from the top. Imagining Marcus running out from the office to the corner store to grab these. Still, the colors are vibrant. Your favorite. The smell is bright. As you gaze back up at Marcus, the whole world feels brighter too.

"Do you like them? Sorry I couldn't go to the usual florist but I-" Marcus rambles on.

"No." You answer with a smile, taking the flowers in your arms. "They're perfect. You're perfect."

A tinge of red flushes his cheeks at your statement. "Far from it but I'm glad you like them. I also-" he reaches around the still open door to grab a bag from the hallway, "got take out! It's your favorite." He smiles bashfully. Suddenly concerned he'd gone a bit overboard. "I hope it's okay."

"You really are perfect, huh?" You tease, pulling him in and shutting the door behind him.

"I try." He concedes with a shrug. Moving the take out over to your table. Carefully pulling the food out of the bag.

You go to the kitchen, grabbing a vase and filling it with water. Dropping the bouquet in and rushing it over to show Marcus. "Look how pretty they are!" You can't help but smile at them. They fit perfectly. Suddenly, you could ignore all the old stains on the table top.

He chuckles at you, "They look good in here." He agrees.

You inhale, getting a sniff of the food. "That smells so good!" You exclaim, taking your seat across from Marcus.

"Ugh you're telling me! I had to stop myself from just eating it all in the car." He laughs, taking the plastic utensils in his hands.

You eagerly dig in. The flavors hitting your tongue like a firework. It was so rich. Cooked to absolute perfection. Though you know it had likely been some fifteen minutes of waiting in Marcus's car, it was somehow the perfect temperature. "Oh Marcus…I swear the food is never this good when you're not there! Are you sure you're not tipping off the chef or something?"

He scoffs, smiling at the absurdity. "Babe, the first time I went there was with you. There's no way I would have been able to do that."

You squint your eyes at him, a look of fake suspicion on your face. "I'm onto you Agent Pike."

"Yeah yeah," he rolls his eyes, taking another bite of his dinner, "eat your food!"

You continue chatting through dinner, airing out all of the day's frustrations. To which Marcus dutifully listens. He then goes on to talk a bit about his day. Nothing exciting, just writing up reports on his latest sting. Though he just so fails to mention how he left most of them piled on his desk when he heard of your bad day. Still- you cling to every word. At times it felt like Marcus could be talking about nothing at all, and you'd still be totally fascinated about it. Eventually you both finish. Marcus is quick to insist on cleaning up. Claiming as he always did that he had "brought the mess over" and therefore was responsible to clean it. Knowing that fight was yours to lose, you allow it. Watching from the table as he neatly stacks the takeout boxes before throwing them in the trash.

"All done!" Marcus claps his hands together celebratory. "Any ideas for how you'd like to spend the rest of the night?"

You pause to think, "Maybe a movie?"

He smiles with a nod. "Sounds good." He pulls on his tie, loosening it from around his neck. "Do you mind if I change first?"

"Be my guest. Your clothes are in the second drawer where they always are."

Marcus rounds the corner to your bedroom to change. You take the opportunity to get comfortable on the couch. Your body sinks into the soft cushions. A relaxed sigh leaving your body as your hands trace over the smooth material. Everything felt so cozy.

"This look alright?" Marcus steps out into the room giving you a spin. A white V-neck t-shirt on, paired with his comfy grey sweatpants.

You smile up at him, he just looks so snuggleable! "You look great. Now, come here!" You reach for him with outstretched arms.

Marcus, never one to keep you waiting, is quick to join you on the couch. Sitting besides you, pulling you into his chest in a tight embrace. "Alright, what are we watching?"

"No clue." You shrug.

"Channel flipping it is!" Taking the remote in his hand, he begins scouring for something to watch. "Ohh here's something, The Wizard of Oz?"

You watch him with wide eyes. A sense of sentimentality taking over you. "That's the first movie we saw together."

Marcus pauses for a moment, remembering. "Yeah…it is, isn't it? Though, I think we missed the opening of it."

"Which was your fault by the way!"

"Traffic was bad!" He defends.

You can't help but tease. "Excuses, excuses!" You huff as the memory of that date.

You stood impatiently on a corner downtown, across from the movie theatre. Tapping your foot and struggling to stop yourself from sending another text asking if Marcus was standing you up. It'd been about ten minutes since the movie started, and another twenty minutes since Marcus was supposed to have been there. Suppressing the tear in your eye, you bite the bullet and turn to head home. A hand grabbing your waist from behind to stop you.

"Wait-" the man pleads with a voice you recognize, Marcus. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. The traffic was so bad and I- I got here as fast as I could. I didn't see your texts until I was here. And I-" he pauses.

You turned slowly, with half a mind to tell him off for almost making you cry. But you can't. As soon as Marcus was in view, all your frustrations disappeared. It didn't matter that he was late. Only that he was here. And that those big brown puppy dog eyes were all yours again.

"Fuck-" he cuts himself off, leaning in to kiss you unable to resist the urge.

You relax even further into his touch. His hands still on your waist pulling you closer. Your hands wrapping around his neck, holding him to you. "Marcus…" you murmur softly, pulling away briefly.

"I'm sorry." He repeats against your lips. "I should have been here." He kisses you once more, pulling you tight against him.

Suddenly, the traffic seemed to get a little lighter.

"Marcus?" You grab his attention, your mind focusing back on the present. "What happens in the beginning anyways?"

"Of The Wizard of Oz?"

You answer with a nod.

"Well. We start out in Kansas with Dorthy who just got out of school. She's just kind of going about her day. Running into a whole little cast of characters that make up the main cast. A mean neighbor who's the witch. Lion, scarecrow, and the tinman are this group of guys who work on the farm. So on and so on. Same as the end of the film. She sings a little song and then a tornado happens. And we're in Oz!"

"There's a transition, right? When the movie switches into color?"

"Ah yes! That's the really cool part! After the tornado, she opens the door and the world outside is in color. I looked up how they did it but…it kind of ruins the magic." He says with a guilty smile.

"I know the feeling. Of Dorthy I mean. That feeling of the world suddenly being in color.'

"Yeah?" Marcus prompts you, asking for more.

You lean into his ear, with a low whisper, "The same feelings I get being around you."

He playfully pushes you off, "Okay now you're just teasing." His cheeks red with embarrassment.

"I'm serious, Marcus." You wrangle your way back into his arms. "I felt horrible earlier, but there's just something…when you're around…I don't know. My days are just so much better. It's like this aura? Or vibe?"

"A lovelight?" Marcus offers.

"Love-light?" You repeat.

"Yeah, you know…like the ABBA song?" He sighs and begins to half heartedly sing, "You must have a lovelight, everything around you is lovelight."

You chuckle, Marcus's affinity for old media never failing to entertain you.

"You've gotta know that one!"

"I do, I was just hoping you'd sing it for me." You smirk, knowing your plan worked.

He laughs, hiding his face behind his hands. "You got me."

You smile at him, moving his hands to plant a soft kiss on his lips. A smile tucked into each of your faces. "I like it." You quietly say into the kiss.

"Like what?"

"Lovelight…it fits." You nuzzle against his cheek. "You light up my whole world, Marcus. All the things you do. The things you say. Just the way you are. Everything around you is…lovelight."

His face goes red at your turn of affection. "You like it? It's not too much?" Insecurity creeps up his neck. He knows previous partners had felt suffocated by his attentiveness. But if you really liked it maybe…

"Yes. I love it. It makes me feel good. Being with you feels right. Everything about you is right." You lean, gently pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Don't let anyone dim your lovelight, Marcus."

Under you, Marcus anxiously bites his cheeks. His sweet dimples popping in and out as he tries to hide a smile. His eyes, dancing around to avoid catching yours. Though he has lots to say, "I love you…" is all he manages to vocalize.

You smile into his jaw, "I love you too Marcus. Now, I believe we have a movie to watch!" You relax back down at his side.

Marcus flashes you a quick grin. "To Oz we go." He says as he turns on the film.

The rest of the night is peaceful. Full of behind the scene facts from Marcus, and snacks you'd been saving for moments like this. After the film ends, you're both quick to agree to turn in early. Both you and Marcus are tired from your day, and know the next will be equally as tiring as well. Marcus takes his place in bed beside you, turning off the bedside lamp.

"Goodnight Baby." He gives you a soft kiss before tucking himself under the comforter.

"Goodnight Marcus." You return his notion.

As you get comfortable under the covers, you notice something. With Marcus around, even that old dirty ceiling seems a little whiter.

#Am writes #Year of ABBA #year of creation #marcus pike #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike fanfic #marcus pike fanfiction #marcus pike x GN!Reader #soft marcus pike

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toskarin · 1 year ago

Note

Professor Toskarin, teach us of the horrors of penance armor!

fear and hunger spoilers. yes, even describing it counts as a spoiler.

penance armour is described as a suit of armour worn by a special unit of vatican soldiers known as "penance knights" who are composed entirely of convicts with life and death sentences

the armour drills into the wearer's skin with thousands of irremovable spikes and effectively forces the wearer into a permanent state of agony (to cleanse the mind of all but purpose and fury)

they're used almost exclusively for suicide missions, since "irremovable torture armour" isn't really conducive to living after the mission you were given

lore-wise, there's a single suit of it left in the dungeon and you either get it from telling a sadistic murderer where people are hiding in the dungeon or by stealing the key to the torture vault from him. it prevents decapitation among other things, so it's actually not that bad to deal with mechanically for what it gives you

the thing is, it's just a viscerally unpleasant image. the dungeon is so awful to be in, so hostile to human life, that the player can willingly step into an irremovable torture machine that makes them bleed every time they move (on top of de-personing themself, since it has a facemask) and have this understood as an appropriate choice

extremely cool stuff

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demise-seems-dead · 8 months ago

Text

@askingkyborg's main here to being you another emo chip mini fic! Spoilers for 33-36 and SHHH i know it doesnt make sense timeline wise because they go straight to the vampspire from town but shut up no they dont

this will be posted on ao3 when i fix my account btws!!

also also heavilyly implied OCD chip because yes <3

TW: Suicidal actions, ideation, etc. also minor disordered eating talk.

‘Care to spar with me, mon ami?” Chip looks up from the campfire at that point, maybe for the first time all day. His eyes focused up on Mathilde, the bird's eyes glinting softly. Of course, if Chip was honest with himself, that was a flat out no. Chip wasn't in the mood for being tactical, which is normally his thing. The only thing he wanted was for everyone to leave him alone. His brain has been on autopilot for the past two days and all he's done is sleep, eat and walk.

Chip isn't dumb. He knows mathilde is just trying to get him to do something, but what's even the point any more?

“Sure. I’ll spar, but we both know I'll lose.” The forced smile on his face wavers a bit.

Chip stands up, popping his back with a deep crackle. He sighs gingerly, and unlatches his arm blade. He knows I'd be smarter to use his crossbow if mathilde is going to fly, but it's not like he was intending to win. Chip is not a bad fighter, of course. No, he's actually quite good. It's just hard to think about when your mind is static and ocean foam.

Absently he loosens his neck, one of his habits that never ceased to leave him from years of assassin work. He always seems to have a crick in his neck, but it’s not really surprising. Chip had found himself in and out of jails, hostage situations, and attempted murder more times than he could shake a stick at. His body was a wheat maze of scars and old wounds, of torture and strain. But it was all part of the job, or at least that's the half assed excuse he gave himself.

The other part of Chip's fight ritual was coming into his surroundings. He followed mathildes movements in the clearing with lidded eyes, focusing in on the world for the first time since-...

Mathilde was moving cockily, as they almost always do. Slowly and elegant, feathers smoothed and freshly preened, it looks like. Chip raises his heels up off the ground, eyes narrowing in, trying to get lighter on his feet. His own body is different, and he feels less familiar with it. He's lost weight recently- not having eaten in a few days- too sick to his stomach from the previous weeks to even think about it. It wasn't a lot, but his shouldie hung off him in a different way. It made him wish he still had his D.A.G.A.R suit for training. His hand smelt like wild onions, and the rest of him like ash. He's been lighting the campfires with his tiefling abilities lately, instead of using his boy scout training from his childhood. Using that fire always drained him, but he can't help but be glad it helps him pass out at night rather than lie awake. He needed to sleep, to sleep, to dream and fight it off for a while. It's been his only time of peace for quite some time.

A few more seconds till the battle begins, mathilde is counting down, but he doesn't dare let the sound get into his ears. You focus on your target and your target alone when you fight. He’ll read their beaks movements for days instead of breaking his focus if he needs to.

Chip repositions, moving his left side forward. Not only is it the hand he's got his armblade on, but it helps hide his weak spot- the crossbow wounds still healing from the previous night. Barney had given him some healing in between, but in the night he'd gently picked at it. The red stains have always calmed him down, and on himself no different. Red meant alive still, red was the enemy, but red meant weakened and ready to die. To embrace the people they miss… so…so…bad.

Mathilde moves, battle begins. He knows they're saying something snarky but he's too tuned out to regard it. He's watching and commanding from third person, and that's just how he wants it. Bob down, weave right. Mathilde lands a firm noncorporeal blow to his face, and he gasps out a little, breaking part of his concentration. A smooth trickle of blood drips from a now busted lip, and chip can't help but smile.

The chipper killer. That's what people used to call him, back in the day. Always had a smile when he killed, made jokes and jabs. This was basically the same, just less lethal. A laugh busts through chips teeth, and he smiles. Mathilde obviously looks a little shocked by his reaction.

Chip plants his left foot, pressing all of his weight on his toes and not his heels to keep him flighty. He takes a slash with his arm blade. His eyes shut, but fly back open in seconds. Mathilde has a sting of blood dripping from the cut over his chest, red plumage soaking even redder. Chip laughs, and he sounds wild. A snarky insult comes to his lips but he presses it down.He can't cause hesitation, you hesitate you die. He needs to get his target.

Chips' eyes are blurry, and he can hardly make out the figure in front of him. He's used to shots in the dark though. The blurriness backs up, and a sneer falls into his face. Kill. His ears flicker down a bit, and he moves forward. The kill drive of his nature was seizing him, hands steady and brain calculated. A stab at the shadows, voice howling in his own skull. “DIE!”

Blood was splattered onto his hands, and it didn't matter whos it was. There's shouting all around him. He wants his target dead. He wants everything to die. He wants to die-

“CHIIIPPP!” a high pitched squeak breaks his brain, and the haze fades. The dark shadows reform, and suddenly he sees mathilde, blood dripping down their front and hands in front of their face, not in cowardice but in preparation for attack. An attack from him.

Chips eyes shoot down at ellga, who was the one who snapped him out of it. His arm blade glistened in the draining sun, wet blood still on it. He looks up at mathilde, and the bird gives a sympathetic look at the absolute horror streaked across Chip's face.

“Mathilde i am so-’ “Don't be sorry, we were sparing, you just got a little into it is all. im fine, barney can heal me right up-”

“Already on it” the old man blurts, but looks at Chip with a spike of fear that makes the tiefling want to dry heave.

“I-I-”

Chip runs a hand through his hair, unable to talk. He knew his killing nature was catching back up to him with carol dying, but now he's going back to how he was.

Chip stumbles a little, back into ellga. He jumps forward and turns, pulling his hands all the way away. Sweat beads down in a streak off his chin.

‘IM- i- I'm gonna go forage-!” Chip announces with his most normal smile, his fakest smile, and turns on his heel. Mathilde makes a noise like they're going to talk, but just sighs, and it wills Chip into walking even faster in the opposite direction. He stumbles his way down the hill, moving away from the patch of grass they'd been at and into the main town of vania. He bumps into every person there, and several ask him if hes alright from the blood on his hands and his face. They don't know him, they don't know he's a monster. They don't know he's a friend hurter, or that he's the reason his wife is dead. They don't know anything, so Chip doesn't say anything. He just walks.

By the time the sun starts setting, Chip doesn't even know where he is. Vania isn't huge by any stretch of the imagination, but chip is already lost enough in his own mind to know where exactly he is in this unfamiliar place. After a while, he settles, tucked behind a building and hidden, breathing heavily.

He stares at the blood on his hands, and he twitches. Chip has never been a messy killer. Blood makes his hands itch, too wet then too dry. Dirty and disgusting. As much as he hates the smell of bleach, he always uses it for crime scenes. Blood was too dirty. Filthy, nasty, and wrong. He's been nervously rubbing his hands for hours, the blood mainly off, but still feeling like it's on there. He rubs some more at it, and curses under his breath.

He hurt his friend.

He's a bad omen. An omen of death.

He's killed hundreds.

He's a bad person. An omen of death.

He's the reason his wife is dead.

He's a bad husband. An omen of death.

He's the real problem.

A monster. An omen of death.

Why does he even bother being ALIVE?

Chip sighs, running a hand through his hair and then wincing. Now that's contaminated too. Everything about him is dirty and wrong. Tears threaten his eyes, pushing into the corners and making a soft noise as they roll over his cheeks.Days of lapsing suicidal urges and injuries have snapped him into a terrible, terrible place. Softly he presses his forehead onto his knees, feeling the cool scared up skin over his hot face.

He's not sure how long he rests but his dreams are uncomfortable. Swirling memories of killings past. Bad bad memories. They never bothered him before, but now he knows what it's like to lose somebody. Now he knows how much of a monster he really is.

He's only ever startled awake by voices. Mushing noises of high and low pitches. He opened his eyes, and they flooded over with brightness. He stifled a groan, headache and ready airdropping into his skull and ears ringing like a kenku scream. His eyes focus, and he sees several balls of gleaming light, and his party in front of them.

“What is tarnation…?” he grumbles, and the light speckles vanish, the sun's last entrails covered by mathilde spreading their wings. His eyes go up to his team mates who are staring at him with worry in their eyes. He winces distantly, feeling a spike of guilt as he sees mathildes feathers pushed out of place and puffed up.

‘Oh.. uh… hey guys..” He rubs the back of his now sore neck.

“Chip crétin! Je devrais avoir ton visage pour ça, pourquoi diable m'enfuirais-tu comme ça, Ellga était inquiète, Barney était inquiet, j'étais inquiet d'avoir crié à haute voix ! Ce n'est pas si mal, je vais bien, c'est bien!” mathilde scolds in panicked sounding French, grabbing Chip by the collar of his hoodie and yanking him up.

Ellga huffs. “Why’d you run off? It's fine! You two were having fun! It was a play fight. It's not real! Mathildes is not dead- well, they are, but it's unrelated!”

“I-” chip sighs heavily, shutting his eyes a bit. “You're right. Sorry. I guess…” chip searches for the words in his head, scrambling to think of what to say. Tiredness flushes over him in a wave, and he lets out a sigh, throwing his hands up. He lets his head embrace the wall behind him, and his horns click on it.

‘I'm just.. I'm just so..so..tired.” he gives. “I didn't mean to hurtcha’ mathilde, I just got lost in my own head. Guess my…killer ways are catching up with me…” “Well you’d never intentionally hurt any of us. You told me coming into town that you're a good assassin.” Barney tries to encourage, but chips heart falls. “Yeah, well…is there really such a thing?I'm still a murderer” he chokes, and his body tingles with the feeling of blood splats from past kills all surging up and bubbling under his purple skin.

“Nonsense. Words are all made up, mon ami. One isn't worse than another. An assassin is a profession, and a murderer is apparently a death sentence to ‘za living. It dos’ant matt’ar! Those titles don't dictate who you a’hre, the people who love you do. And I say you're perfectly fine. We all do bad t’ings sometimes.” Chip sighs at mathildes word, ever wise in their later later years. “I suppose.” he says, not at all convinced. Ellga frowns, and it makes Chip want to bury his head in the vanian dirt. She turns to the alchemist, who Chip had almost forgotten about.

“Mr alchemist, do you have any cures for sadness?” “Not…quite, ellga, but i have somethings that may help, if chip here is willing.” The room pauses, and all eyes form onto Chip. “Awh, what da heck..?”

“Give me your arm blade.”

“What?” Chip stares at Robert like he's crazy. “Just hand it to me.” Chip sighs, and unties the arm band to it and tosses it over to the alchemist, who catches deftly. He looks at it for a moment, and then tucks it into his bag.

“How's that supposed to help? That's my best stealth weapon.'' Chip finds himself grumbling.

“Exactly. That way if you try to hurt yourself, you don't have anything silent to do it with.”

“Oh.” He momentarily wants to fight off the claim, but the arrow wounds in his foot and his lower neck burn with a shot of pain to remind him.

“Okay.”

“Besides that-” Robert continues momentarily, digging around in his bag, tophat sliding down his head, “I've got a potion I want you to try. It should help.”

He extends out a vial filled with a shimmering blue liquid. Chip extends a gloved hand, and takes it. He removes the cap with a pop, and tips it back. He drains the liquid in a quick motion, and wipes the corner of his mouth.

“I don't feel any different. I just feel really tired and useless, mainly.” He says, and his head flinches back at his own words. Robert smiles, and taps the vile.

“Truth telling serum. Now you can't hide anything from us.” he pats his shoulder as he chuckles.

Chip goes to scold, but realises everything would get turned on its head when he says it.

Mathilde snickers. "There isn't any way to heal depression with a potion, but now our too clever rogue cant hide anything from us.”

“You guys are my favourite people.” chip sighs, exasperatedly. Ellga squeezes his hand.

“Come on, let's go to the vampspire. Maybe seeing my home will cheer you up.”

“Yeah… maybe it will.”

#tales from the stinky dragon #stinky dragon pod #chip haney #barney farney #mathilde confiseuse #ellga von brath #mini fic

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selfiesforalgernon · 8 months ago

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MASSIVE SPOILERS FOR DUNE PART 2, SCROLL AWAY IF YOU CARE

On the subject of the Dune sequel movie:

Ok so Dune fans, book fans specifically, Thufir Hawat once again gets no love, he gets axed out of the story completely in the movie sequel, Alia gets no love either, she's still there but never gets born so we don't get the badass moment of her killing the Baron, Feyd Rautha at least gets more love than in the Lynch version but they rewrite his character to be a psycho instead of having any complexity like in the book, Giedi Prime does have a gladiator scene so at least they pay lip service but obviously a ton is left out and Count Hasimir Fenring is completely axed out of the plot as well, though his wife Margot at least is still in.. And once again Jason Momoa should've played Gurney instead of Duncan, it's more suited to his temperment so unless Momoa has read the books and knows something about any movie sequels in the works (Hayt possibility.. that would be dope I can't lie) unless he wants that, I don't believe that he was hyped to play Duncan, who was barely in the first Dune book and not impressive in the parts he WAS in.. Also glad to see they finally gave a nod to the Harkonnen blood relations that was never touched on in the Lynch version so I am glad to see that but overall... I just watched both of the new Dune movies back to back and the first one is actually like 90% accurate to the book, acceptable.. the second movie, while entertaining, changes and or omits about 70% of the story it might as well be fan fiction, certain characters don't act as they should, details are switched which can be cringe-inducing, but 😮‍💨 they stick the landing enough to be FINE, just temper expectations if you have read the book lol they do a lot of other characters dirty, oh yeah like Harrah, they axed that she belongs to Paul, Chani gets to be a Fedaykin (even though Fremen society only lets women confirm kills and tend to deathstills lol they would never allow it they're pretty sexist) and nope no orgy scene lmao can't have group sex omg what would the kids think watching this 🤓 death by a million nitpicks like that, agonizing.. but what can you do, even Lord of The Rings iced Tom Bombadil and those movies are still classics so, we take what we can.. both movies=5 hours runtime, and Dune has a lot more to say than in just 5 hours so this is most likely... as good as it gets

#movie posting #dune spoilers #dune part 2 #massive spoilers #thufir hawat #feyd rautha #st. alia of the knife #dune

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moontheoretist · 2 months ago

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Someone just told me I can't criticise Cullen's redemption arc for being too short and not addressing properly the issue with his hatred of the mages, because I need to take into account the context of the time period the medium was made... I'm sorry but did good and not cut in half redemption arcs that fully adress character's journey to become a better person were invented after 2014? Or am I missing something?

Rant below.

And they were literally responding to me saying that Cullen's arc was not fully done in DAI. Which is an obvious statement of an obvious fact that Cullen's arc is cut in half and that DAI is just a start of redemption journey. My critique was of people assuming that it was a full arc and game treating it as if it was a full arc when it simply wasn't. They keep insisting "they couldn't know due to the time period". Like WTF.

2011 - 2014 is not ancient times! Even if they didn't mean that and instead the historical period DAI is set in, it's a bullshit argument! DAI is not historical fiction! And even if it was, critique can be made still!

And told me to "appreciate media as a result of cultural attitudes of its time" which is such a white cis hetero privileged argument I swear. Oh, yes I should definitely appreciate all the media for their racism and sexism and excuse it because "they're just a product of its time" when the only thing it showcases is the bias of the author at worst and author's desire to explore fucked up things at best. No, thank you.

We knew how to write a full redemption arc in 2014 and even long before that! And when I kept repeating my point that the arc was too short and should be longer, that I'm not saying it out of hate but out of love, they literally tried to blame me for "twisting their words" so I can be right. I didn't twist shit. It was them who didn't want to say what they truly mean by what they said to "avoid spoilers" (as it was a convo under a video of someone who never played DAI) with their "context of the time period" point. Not to mention that this point doesn't apply in this situation. I didn't say that, but even if it was applying here it would NOT be an excuse to act as if what is happening in the game and what Cullen says to your mage in DAI was ok. It just reminded me about all those people who say "grandpa doesn't know better, it was different times when he was younger". Like the fuck, it's not an excuse, and it's stupid argument, because people knew bad stuff were bad regardless of the time period. Those that didn't were in the dark about it because they didn't want to engage with different narratives than the ones that suited them the most, and then when they aged they just kept those opinions and refused to budge, even when they were wrong both at the time of their youth and when they were older. Times change, but some stuff are always the same. People not being able to accept that criticism exists and isn't harmful or malicious is just one of them.

And it all started because I dared to say that Blackwall's redemption arc is better. I didn't say it because it's better written (i.e. it has more content inside the game rather than outside it) or was longer. I said it, because the ultimate goal of a redeption arc is to make the character become a better person and Blackwall when we meet him is already way on his way to become a better person. He didn't just start his arc. He worked his ass for years to be where he was during DAI. Meanwhile Cullen is just starting his arc or at the very least in the middle of it if we count from the moment he was traumatized. DAO was his traumatic experience. DA2 was him doubling down on his hatred to cope with his trauma, so at the end he could switch sides. DAI is when he finally properly starts his redemption journey and actively tries to become better. He stumbles and does bad shit during it because it's a start. But it's still not an excuse to what he says and tries to push for in DAI. It just means that his journey will be long and hard. Treating DAI as a full redemption arc is foolish and tells me more than I need to know.

#they also later insulted me by claiming I don't see nuance #if someone here doesn't see nuance it's that asshole #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #rant #cullen rutherford #redemption #redemption arc

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3pirouette · 1 year ago

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Fic: The Infinity Leap (1/1)

Title: The Infinity Leap

By: TriplePirouette/3Pirouette

Spoilers: Through Endgame, Basic Quantum Leap Orginal Series knowledge required.

Disclaimer: They're not mine.

Word Count:

Distribution: AO3 Anyone else please ask first :)

Story Summary: Dr. Sam Beckett leaps into Agent Peggy Carter to write a wrong, but in the end, he may just end up righting two of them.

Story A/N: This story assumes 3 things: 1. Season 2 of Agent Carter never happened 2. The MCU up though Endgame is otherwise intact and 3. The reader has basic knowledge of Quantum Leap. Quite Frankly, this is really more of a Quantum Leap episode than anything, so I know there’s gonna be like… 5 people interested? But for those of you interested, I hope you really, really enjoy this.

Also, I know I’ve mentioned this before, but I’m a subscriber to the Outlander/Doctor Who version of time travel that makes the events of Infinity War possible in the Main MCU timeline. Seems Quantum Leap rules also fit into that.

This story is set in 2000, about 5 years after the last “leap” we see in the series, and assumes they get to continue the Quantum Leap program for several years.

I had hoped to really get this to a full length story, but it’s been sitting on my hard drive for a LONG time. In the end, I’m pretty happy with it, even if it isn’t exactly what I set out to write.

For Steggy Week 2023, Day 3: AU’s and Crossovers @steggyfanevents

~*~

Peggy Carter blinked.

Before she’d blinked, she’d been in the conference room, sipping the dregs of the morning coffee as Thompson addressed the room with his usual narcissistic flare.

After she blinked, she was in a white room she’d never seen before, in a white unitard she’d never worn before, and she didn’t feel a thing.

~*~

Sam took a slow breath as the tingling dissipated and did his best to keep a neutral facial expression. He kept his eyes on the man talking, hoping to feign interest. It was always hard stepping into a person when there was something happening, when people expected him to be able to contribute.

He slowly brought his hands under the table and down his stomach: a suit jacket. That seemed to track for the way the rest of the room was dressed, but he felt that funny feeling where his chest was too tight and his neck wasn’t constricted enough. A little lower with his hands and he confirmed what he’d been afraid of: a skirt. He was a woman. Again.

He wiggled his toes and rolled his ankles; at least the heels were sensible. Was he the secretary? He hated being someone’s secretary.

“So that’s it,” the man at the front said sharply, turning to hook his thumbs in his suspenders. “Any questions?”

Sam stayed quiet, hoping to get through the meeting without having to say a word. He looked down at the folder in front of him and immediately tossed the idea of “secretary” out the door. Secretaries didn’t usually have folders marked “eyes only” and “top secret.”

“Even you, Carter?” The man looked directly at Sam, and he looked up, locking gazes. “No thoughts or suggestions?”

Sam knew that tone, recognized it for the goad that it was and wished he could fire back. He almost did, as the man seemed to expect something from him, but he didn’t know what was going on, and didn’t want to change anything before he knew what he was really here to change. “No. Not right now,” he replied, shooting what he hoped was just enough of a smile laced with just enough sarcasm that the man would believe it.

“Yeah, fine. Right.” He turned back to the rest of the men around the table, seemingly upset he wasn’t going to get to spar with him. “You have your assignments.” He waved his hand and everyone stood to leave.

Sam did the same, gathering the papers and coffee in front of him, standing slowly to get used to the feeling of the heels on his feet.

A man with a crutch stopped next to him, whispering even though they were the only people left in the room. “I thought you were ready to give him hell about that plan?”

Sam shrugged, juggling the folder for a second. “Well, I decided it wasn’t the right time.”

The man sighed, stepping forward and through the door. “One of these days he’s going to listen to you, Peggy.”

Sam nodded, slowly following him out to the bullpen of desks. Peggy. Peggy… Carter. He scanned the nameplates and found a Margaret Carter in the back and made his way to the desk. The one thing that was on his side was that everyone seemed engrossed in their own work. Sam sat at the desk and kicked the heels off underneath, wiggling his toes as he looked at the clean desktop. He pulled open drawers and sifted through the papers there, finding little to go on.

He heard the woosh of the imaging room door open behind him and picked out a pad and pulled a pen to his fingers as Al’s voice drifted over him in the noisy room. “Let me tell you, Sam, this is going to be a tough one, that lady in there- she isn’t spilling a thing! We had a hell of a time finding you, and even then, it was a wing and a prayer. Ziggy’s been malfunctioning ever since you leaped, insisting you’re in the 40’s.” He spun, frustrated. “We don’t even have a name.” Sam smiled to himself and tapped the nameplate on the front of the desk, just like he was thinking.

Al moved around in front of him, meandering to look at the name plate. “Margaret Carter…” He huffed, typing it into his handlink. “Well, that’s more than we’ve gotten all morning.” Al leaned back, looking Sam over. “Wow, Sam, you’re…”

Sam looked up, annoyance on his face, but he said nothing.

Al let his hands wave in the air for a moment and sighed. “Yeah, you’re a ‘she’ for sure.” He snapped his mouth closed, for the first time realizing where they were. He looked over the clothes, the decorations on the walls, the telephone on the desk. “This looks a little…” He stepped over to the desk across from Sam where a newspaper was lying next to an Agent drinking his coffee. Al leaned over, eyebrows raising. “April 16, 1948.” He looked at the handlink as it beeped at him. “Ok, fine. You were right.”

Sam looked up, surprised, but put his head down and wrote furiously on the pad before him. “1948?”

Al looked at Sam’s note. “I mean, it’s not unheard of- you have leapt out of your lifetime before… not a lot but…” Al shrugged, then looked up at his handlink as it beeped and blinked in his hand. “This can’t be right.”

“What?” Sam wrote.

Al huffed. “Ziggy is saying that this woman is classified.” Sam’s look asked the question he couldn’t say out loud. “Well, I don’t know!” Al waved his arms, one disappearing through the man seated in front of them as the hologram interreacted with the world around them. “I don’t know how a whole, entire person can be classified. I’m gonna…” He huffed again and pointed to where Sam suspected the door to the imaging chamber was. “We’ll get it sorted. In the mean time, just…” Al shrugged, disappearing into the air.

Sam sighed, crossing out the notes on the paper until they couldn’t be seen. “Oh, boy.”

~*~

Peggy gaped at the woman across from her. “This is, frankly, the worst interrogation I’ve ever been a part of,” she leaned back and crossed her arms, fighting to keep her breathing even. She was trying to come up with a clue as to where she was or why she was taken, but the woman across from her was giving Peggy as little as Peggy was providing.

The woman sighed gently. “I’ve told you, this isn’t an interrogation. I asked your name.”

She laughed, shaking her head and sitting back into the couch more. “You’ve kidnapped me and you don’t even know my name?” Peggy looked her up and down. She was probably poisoned. Maybe gas. She couldn’t believe they’d managed to get her out of the SSR building without anyone noticing or putting up a fight she didn’t remember. It must have been gas. She wondered how many others they had. “I’m not telling you anything.”

“Miss,” the young, dark- skinned woman continued, closing the notepad she had in front of her. “If you don’t cooperate, we can’t help you.”

“You’ve refused to tell me who you are or why I’m here, and you don’t even know who I am. I believe we’re done speaking.” Peggy’s mind was racing, but she was somewhat relieved to see the woman slip her pad in her pocket and stand.

~*~

Al stood at the entrance to the Starbright Project, waiting patiently. He was sure Sam needed him in some way, that he’d been gone too long now, but surely a few hours wouldn’t hurt.

He hoped.

The black SUVs stopped in front of him, and out stepped a man in a black suit with unnecessary sunglasses as it was nearly night. He turned, and helped a stately woman out of the back. She was old, older than Al, with fine lines around her mouth and an expertly twisted hairstyle. She moved toward Al with purpose, the man following just a step behind.

The woman stopped right in front of him, and the man that followed stepped next to them. “Admiral Al Calavichi?”

“That’s me,” Al gave a short salute. “And you are…”

The man nodded, then held out his hand. “Agent Coulson, and this is Former Shield Director Margaret Carter.”

“Admiral,” she started, in a soft English tone that let Al know exactly who she was, “I believe we have a lot to talk about.”

~*~

Sam was following the flow of people out of the building, thankful for the idea of a general quitting time. He turned his ankle more than once on the pumps, stumbling out of the elevator just as the sound of the imaging chamber set his teeth on edge. He turned his head, but couldn’t say anything in the crush of people. His eyes said it all: where have you been?

“I know, I know!” Al waved his hands, following Sam as he made his way through the building. “I was sidetracked by… well, you’re not going to believe it.”

Sam raised his eyebrows and stopped, hoping for a payphone but settling for the little door to the side labeled “women.” He slipped into the bathroom and checked each stall before locking the door behind him, Al floating through.

“You’ve been gone all day!” Sam accused, dropping his briefcase on the floor.

“Like I said: sidetracked.” Al shrugged, barely able to hide his excitement.

Sam leaned on the sink, exhausted. “Well, it better be good, because tht bull pen was hell. Those guys, this time…” He shook his head and caught his hat as it fell into his hands. “’Coffee, Peggy. Can you take notes, Peggy? File these, would ya, Peg?’” He made a noise of disgust in the back of his throat. “Leaping into women has given me such a different appreciation for them.”

“I have an appreciation for them.” Al pulled the cigar from between his teeth, his eyes unfocusing as he thought back to earlier that day, “And the one that got me sidetracked. When I tell you she was a knock-out! A ten! A real silver fox. I mean—”

“Al!” Sam turned, rolling his ankle and kicking off the heels. “You left me here all day to see a woman?”

“No, actually, I was visited by the head of one of the countries most prestigious intelligence organizations.” He shrugged, a light smile on his face, “who just so happens to be, well…” He smiled and raised his eyebrows.

Sam stared at his reflection, truly seeing Peggy for the first time, mumbling at his friend. “Let’s go, will you?”

Sam’s whisper of desperation stopped the man mid rude gesture and he shrugged. “Anyway, big to-do on arrival, she comes into my office, leaves her goon outside, and starts in on the story.”

Sam tried to straighten his hat in the mirror, feeling nothing of the complex hair style under his hands. “What story?”

“Turns out, you’ve lept into Agent Margaret ‘Peggy’ Carter. She was a Great American Hero, Sam.” Al’s eyes sparkled. “During World War Two she was a code breaker with the SOE then a spy with the SSR. She was Captain America’s liaison to the agency and tracked Hydra through Europe with the Howling Commandos!”

Sam looked blankly at him, then turned to look at the soft-boned woman in the mirror that stared back at him. It didn’t make sense to him that a woman with that kind of resume was relegated to getting coffee and filing paperwork. “Must be the Swiss Cheese… none of that means much to me.”

“She’s one of the best spies who ever lived,” Al threw up his hand and paced the small bathroom. “But that’s why literally her entire life was classified.”

“Classified?” Sam barked out a laugh, pacing the small bathroom. “What do you mean, classified? We have the highest clearance of any—”

Al lifted his eyebrows, punching more buttons. “Not from SHIELD.”

“SHIELD?” Sam ran his hand over his face, shaking his head. “Why did she show up?”

“Any search for her in a government database gets flagged.” Al shrugged. “She said when she saw it was Starbright, she knew she had to come.”

“She remembers?” Sam asked, astounded.

“She can’t. Well, shouldn’t.” He dropped the handlink down and pushed his cigar back between his lips. “She didn’t say if she did or not.”

“But, if she remembers, that means what I’ve needed to change—”

“Is already changed?” Al twisted his face up and shook his head. “No. No, no, no. That’s not how…” He shrugged and sagged. “I was going to say that’s not how this works, but every time I think we have a handle on it, something surprises me.”

Sam looked at the door, knowing it was only a matter of time before someone else was going to try to get into the bathroom. “So then, did she tell you want I’m here to do?”

“No,” All huffed, twiddling the cigar. “but…”

“But?”

He changed the subject. “But Ziggy thinks you’re here to stop an assassination.”

Sam perked up. He wasn’t sure how he could make something like that happen, especially if an actual spy like Peggy hadn’t been able to. “Assassination? Of who?”

“Angie Martinelli.” Al tapped the handlink and started reading off the facts. “Angie Martinelli was a broadway actress. She and Peggy are roomates, living at the Manhattan home of one Howard Stark.”

Sam rolled his eyes, leaning back into the sink. “Now that name I remember.”

“Imagine if Tony Stark had bankrolled us…” Al mused for a moment, eyes bright. He stopped and sighed. “Missed out. Anyway,” He hit the keys again, waiting for the next bit of information to pop up. “Tomorrow afternoon, Angie will be found in her bedroom, half naked with her throat slit. It’s only after the fact that it was discovered she was hiding that someone had been stalking her, meeting her at the stage door, sending her threatening letters…”

Sam leaned back on the sink, “Is that what Peggy told you?”

“No.” All sighed and shrugged. “She made me explain Project Quantum Leap, in detail, and then nodded.”

“Nodded?” Sam asked, confused. “That’s it?”

“Once she knew what it was all about, she asked what we knew about where you were, and then she came up with the same idea Ziggy did- Angie.”

“I don’t like you running around telling other agencies about-“

“You tell SHIELD what ever they ask for, Sam. You know that.” Al, paused and shrugged. “Knew that. Anyway,” He shifted, walking through the sinks as he paced. “She said that missing that Angie was in danger was something she never forgave herself for, and if we could fix it, well…”

“Well, what?”

“She just kinda stopped and looked sad. Asked if we had any way of targeting where you went.” Al frowned. “ I told her no and then she looked up at me and said the damndest thing.”

“What?”

Al, knit his brow, shaking his head. “She said, ‘I suppose you should save her, then, who knows if his chance will ever come.”

“His who?” Sam asked as the door rattled.

“Dunno,” Al shrugged, watching Sam pull his shoes on and grab his briefcase. “She and her goon left.”

“Look, just get me to her apartment and we’ll take it from there, ok?” Sam smiled, opening the door to the face a bewildered young woman.

“Everything ok in there?” She asked, looking Sam over.

“Fine, just…” he paused, smiling, “Classified.”

Sam rushed past her, headed out to save a life.

~*~

Angie stood with her hands on her hips. “What do you mean I’m not going in today?”

Sam matched her pose, the standoff tense in the living area of the Stark apartment they shared. Angie had barely been home, and Sam had only been able to track her down with Al’s help half the time. “I mean, you need to stay home tonight. Both of us do.”

Angie walked right up to him, got in his face the way that only best friends or siblings do. “You’re gonna get me fired, Peg.”

“Call in sick,” Sam held his ground, placing his hands on her shoulders.

“To Broadway?” Angie rolled her eyes and started pacing back and forth. “What in the world could be so important that-“

Sam had one card to pull, and he hoped his plan would be right. Peggy, in the original time line, had missed that Angie was being stalked. Probably, he’d thought more times than he could count as he tried to track the girl down, because she was never around. But Angie knew some of what Peggy did for a living, even if she didn’t know all of it, and he was banking on their bond of friendship being enough cause for Angie’s trust. “Why didn’t you tell me about what’s going on?”

It was enough to get her to stop in her tracks, back to Sam. Her shoulders tightened. “Tell you want?”

“You’re being stalked.”

Angie tried to brush it off with a laugh. “What? Like corn?”

Sam shook his head. It wasn’t a term that was familiar yet. “Who's harassing you?”

“I don’t even know the guy.” Angie looked down at her feet, shaking her head. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing and you know it,” Sam moved closer to her, lifting her chin to him. Her eyes were filled with tears. “Tell me.”

~*~

Sam was supposed to be on a stake out, the very one he’d heard planned out as he lept into Peggy Carter. He took his own advice and called himself in sick, and now sat with a very disgruntled, and somewhat anxious, Angie, Peggy’s gun sitting next to him on the table as he read.

“Nobody’s coming,” Angie muttered, focusing on the script in her hands.

“You trying to convince me or convince yourself?” Sam asked, looking up from the newspaper in his hands.

“You,” Angie shot back, weakly.

They went back to reading, radio playing softly in the background, when after a few minutes Sam’s head popped up. It was the sound of scratching. Quiet, but there.

Angie watched as he pulled the gun into his hand, slowly standing. Sam hushed her with a finger at his lips.

The imaging chandler door opened, Al popping through. “Sam, it looks like any time between about a half hour ago and-“ He stopped, watching Sam slip through the dark apartment. “Oh, shoot, it’s happening now, isn’t it?”

Sam nodded, Angie following close behind as he swept through each bedroom, Al walking through walls and calling out as he cleared each room ahead.

“You really think someone-“

“Shh,” Sam quieted Angie again. “Stay close, ok?”

She cringed to his hips, following along like the caboose of a train. “You’re the one with the gun, I ain’t going nowhere.”

“Sam!” All called, two rooms ahead. “Here, in the Pantry. One guy coming up the dumbwaiter!”

Sam moved swiftly, Angie following. On Al’s cue, he pushed through the door to the kitchen, hitting the intruder in the face with the door and knocking him back. Angie’s screams mingled with the swing music pouring from the radio as Sam jumped on him, landing a solid right hook before tumbling him to the ground, unconscious.

Between Al’s supportive cries, Angie’s screams, and the music, Sam could barely focus as he reached for the handcuffs in Peggy’s pocket. “Angie, go call the police.”

“Aren’t you-“

Sam shook his head, sitting heavily on the man. “We need the regular police, not the SSR.”

Angie ran out of the room while All finally focused. “Good job, Sam! According to Ziggy,” he paused, tapping the handlink gently before giving it a final hard knock, “Angie lives a long life and has a fabulous career.”

“She get fired for calling in sick?”

All frowned. “Yeah, but it won’t matter. She gets picked up to be a series regular for a radio serial in a few months, then breaks into the movies.”

“Peggy?” Sam asks, slipping to the side of the intruder and sitting on the floor, one hand on him in case he woke up. “She still get to be Director of SHIELD?”

Al knocks his handlink again and it beeps. He smiles and nods. “Yup. Looks like the little information we had didn’t change, so-“ He pause,d listening to a voice only Al could hear back on the other side of the hologram. “What letter?” He waited again, and Sam watched, confused. “There is no letter!”

“Letter?” Sam asked quietly, knowing they only had a few seconds before Angie came back or their assailant came to.

Al shook his head. “Gushy is telling me there’s a letter in my office and it’s been there since Carter entered the waiting room for me to open, top secret, high priority. There’s no letter in my office.”

Sam tilted his head. “There wasn’t a letter in your office.”

Al opened his mouth to argue, but then it hit him. There hadn’t been a letter before Sam changed history.

Now there was.

“I’m gonna go read that letter.”

Al disappeared through the imaging chamber door just as Angie came back. “They’re on their way…” Her voice died out as she got a glimpse of the face of the man on the floor.

“You know him?”

Angie nodded, eyes wide. “That’s our stage manager! You mean to say he’s the one…”

~*~

Al tried to hold on to the feeling that there was no letter. He knew as soon as he stepped outside of the Imaging chamber, whatever had changed in history would feel like reality to him.

He needed to read it, to try to compare it with what he could remember.

He strode through Project Starbright’s halls without saying a word to anyone, holding his hand up to stop people from talking with him. Once in his office, he din’t even bother sitting to open the Manila envelope marked “eyes only, top secret.”

Admiral Calavichi,

If you’re reading this, that means the day has come when my younger self has shown up in your lovely white waiting room. I have been told that this is how this must happen, that to stray from this would be to mess with forces beyond all of our comprehension, and so though I have not given you any reason to trust me, I must ask that you do as I say.

If we do this right, all will stay exactly as it is, for it has already happened, and always will happen this way. Do not ask me how, for I have no understanding of it myself. What I do have is a deep desire for things to be as they are, and not as they could be.

Dr. Beckett has leaped into my younger self. You will find no record of me, as little exists. At that time I was Agent Margaret Carter of the SSR, a spy. I remember nothing of that time when I sat in your waiting room. Whatever right Dr. Beckett put wrong, I have no memory of, and cannot help you with this, but I know that he succeeded, or will succeed.

And when that is over, you must give Sam a message. You must tell him exactly this: He must go to the research level and wait. When he sees him, tell him to go home. Tell him, I’ve said to come home. 1952, to be exact.

The “him” I refer to must remain a mystery, but rest assured both you and Sam will know exactly who when the time comes, as Sam told him that much. He’ll be confused, but accepting, as time travel is not unknown to him.

You must deliver your message. It’s the only chance we’ll have to right this wrong.

Al looked for another page, for something that made sense, but there was nothing except Director Carter’s signature and a date: 1953.

~*~

Sam looked up from his desk in the SSR bullpen as Al stepped into the room, right through a desk and two men passing.

It was always jarring to see his friend moved through like a ghost.

Sam pulled over a pad and wrote, “Why haven’t I leaped yet?”

“Because I gotta show you this.” Al hovered the letter from Director Carter over the pad so Sam could read it. He waited as he watched his eyes go back and forth, Sam mouthing him over and over.

He leaned down, scribbling, “Who do you think ‘him’ is?”

Al shrugged. “No way to tell. We got bupkis on most of her life.” Al sighed. “You know where research is?”

Sam started to answer, but Al felt his heart drop as the blue lightning started to envelop him.

Sam was leaping.

There was no time to go to the research level.

There was no time to right one more wrong.

~*~

Sam took the long moment to let the blood rush to his fingers and toes, to feel the energy that crackled through him just a second ago dissipate. He took a deep breath and let his eyes see and his body feel.

Heels. Again.

Pants. A sensible pants suit.

He looked down in the small office at the papers in his hands. They were marked classified with a symbol that suddenly seemed very familiar. He looked up, searching for the answer he already knew. He picked up the nameplate on the desk and smiled.

“Director Carter,” he mumbled to himself, smiling before placing it back. “Glad to see they finally listened to you.”

He sat in the chair behind him, looking over the documents on the table to try to get a clue as to why he was there when the phone on the desk rang. “He-hello?” He stuttered out.

“Director Carter?” A male voice confidently replied, “You asked me to call when I detected that energy spike?”

“I did?” he asked, then caught himself and cleared his throat. “I did. Yes.”

“Well, I don’t know how you knew it was going to happen, but just now we got an alert from the research subbasement. Do you want me to send someout out?”

He felt fear and excitement run through him, the letter Al had shown him clear in his mind. “No, no. I’ll go.”

“Are you sure?”

He sat back, surprised after all this time they were still questioning her. “You think I can’t handle myself?”

“No, not at- I was just.”

“Thank you for the report, that will be all.” Sam hung up the phone and popped from his chair as the door to the imaging chamber opened.

“Sam—” Al started excitedly.

“I know.” Sam pointed to the plaque on the desk. “Can you get me to… the research subbasement?” he asked, carefully trying to remember the name.

“Yeah. Start moving and we’ll see what…” He tapped the hand link then pounded it against his palm as they moved out of the office. “I’m guessing down.”

Sam started through the base, trying to feign confidence as Al called out lefts and rights to bring him to a set of elevators. Once in, he hit the button and waited for Al to talk, he couldn’t say anything with the other people in there.

“So, you’re Peggy Carter again, Director do SHIELD, this time. It’s April 16th, 1970 and you’re in a SHIELD research facility at Camp Lehigh in New Jersey.” The elevator stopped, and the pair of scientist stepped off, leaving Sam and Al to descend to the lowest research level.

“And I gotta tell someone… to go home?” Sam asked. “I remembered the research level but-“

“Him was all she told us. You’re gonna know him when you see him.” Al emphasized the vagueness with his cigar, pointing it towards the doors. Al sighed, “You gotta tell him Peggy says to go home to 1952.”

“Which means he’s got to be another time traveler?” Sam asked, anxious as the elevator dinged.

He stepped out, Al following. “I’d assume, but you know what that makes out of you and me.” Al shoved the cigar in his mouth, wandering through rows of machines. “There’s nobody here, Sam.”

“There was some kind of energy spike,” Sam whispered, clearing the space one row of desks and shelves at a time. “Something has-“

“It oh.”

Sam stopped in his tracks, “What ut oh?”

Sam could see Al, frozen with his hands up, staring at a a corner he couldn’t see into. “He can see me, Sam.”

“Who?”

He pulled the cigar from his mouth, astounded. “Remember when she said you’ll know him when you see him?”

Sam slipped quietly up beside Al until he saw a figure hiding in the dark, red and white flight suit, nothing that belonged in this time, or any time Sam had ever been a part of, lifting and lowering a shimmering visor on his helmet, eyes wide with surprise and confusion. What stood out, though, was the shield on his arm. Even with his Swiss Cheese brain, Sam would have known that shield anywhere.

“Captain America,” he whispered out, in awe.

“Captain Freaking America,” Al echoed, in nearly as much shock. “She wants us to right that wrong.”

“I can hear you, too.” He let the visor stay down, his face partially hidden but the futuristic helmet. “You seem to know who I am,” Steve started, intensely. “So how about you tell me who the two of you are, and start explaining why you’re impersonating Director Carter.”

Sam smiled. “Oh, boy.”

End A/N: So, there wasn’t a place to PUT this, but the theory in my head goes that Without the visor to the suit up, Steve sees Peggy. However, with the nanotech visor up, which is partially powered by Pym particles and has been affected by traveling through the Quantum Realm, Steve can see Sam as he really is and see and hear Al. I had hoped to work that into the story, but I really liked the idea of ending on an “oh boy” for all my QL fans.

#steggy fic #3P's Fic #SteggyWeek23 #Quantum Leap Crossover #The crossover you never knew you needed but will only make any sense if you actually watched Quantum Leap #If you ACTUALLY read this I would LOVE TO KNOW THAT even if you hate it because I'm absolutely sure it has an audience of just me

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